


Only Fools Fall

by oseltamivir_phosphate



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: A/B/O, Actually Disgustingly Sappy, Alpha Iwaizumi Hajime, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - College/University, Childhood Friends, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Iwaizumi taking care of Oikawa, M/M, Marking, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Pining, Nesting, Omega Oikawa Tooru, Omega Verse, Omegaverse, Pining, Platonic Cuddling, Scent Marking, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, University, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:32:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 126,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oseltamivir_phosphate/pseuds/oseltamivir_phosphate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa had always wanted to be an alpha like Iwaizumi. He hated being a beta – the lesser status, but not entirely the least. That was until he experienced his first heat during his second year in university, and he wonders if it's too late to turn back into a beta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wild

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part I of III — [WILD by Troye Sivan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdXNNveYOfU)

Oikawa Tooru should consider himself lucky.

He’s the starting setter of his university’s volleyball team, studying with an athletic scholarship, and is surrounded by a circle of both friends and fans. But in times like these, in times when his team is tragically overpowered by a team full of nothing but alphas, Oikawa can’t help but feel so unlucky - and so  _weak_. His eyes sharpen at the sight of his opponents, standing like a couple of hotshots. Oikawa never presented as an alpha or an omega (thank god), and so he was neither. The normal one. The lesser status. But not entirely the least. It’s not that hard to understand. Even when he was young, he understood, though he wasn't quite agreeing to the idea. His loving parents had to explain the natural course of life, the biological caste, and how he should handle it when the time comes. He understood.

Volleyball is more complex, Oikawa likes to say. One can’t learn it in one sitting. It’s a game of constant waves of reflexes and motion. And while height and power are two of the most important ingredients in the sport, he realizes immediately after high school that it wasn’t just that. Because Oikawa is a beta – _just_ a beta in the sports world – and despite his height, popularity, and his overall performance, it was entirely a surprise for him when he wasn’t allotted as a regular during his first year. The assistant coach was the one who had scouted him, who wanted him to be part of the team. Every single one  _knew_ he was the best, yet a second year alpha was chosen as the main setter. That's fine, he kept thinking. It couldn't be helped. He was new. He was a beta.

But being the hard-worker that he is, Oikawa opted to train harder. He trained more than anyone else in the team, kept begging the coach to switch him in during matches. He spent his nights in empty courts alone, spiking hundreds, jumping until his knees gave in, until his best friend comes in and tells him to stop, until the assistant coach says ‘this beta is pretty good’, until the coach says ‘you’re a regular now’.

Unlike him, his ever modest friend Iwaizumi Hajime sort of expected that he _wouldn’t_ be chosen as a regular spiker for the team. Fate seemed to be on his side however, because the team lacked any good alphas during their first year, and it just so happened that Iwaizumi was an alpha who could hit a mean spike – the _meanest_ , Oikawa likes to boast. Iwaizumi was surprised at first. He’s meek and reserved when it came to his game sense, but Oikawa simply hates how he can be a complete hypocrite at times. Because Hajime is the type of person who can lift up the team morale like it’s only natural for him, but he’s also the type to frequently doubt his skills as a player, even when he doesn't act like it. Oikawa knows. And even if Oikawa was the captain of his high school volleyball club, Iwaizumi was the one who kept the spirits up, acting more like a captain than Oikawa ever did. It could simply be his natural instincts as an alpha, but Oikawa likes to think that Hajime is just Hajime. And that’s just how he is.

At this very moment though, his best friend seems different. Oikawa’s eyes prod over to scrutinize the absolute domineering figure of Iwaizumi. He's in front of him, far, but close enough for Oikawa to see the sweat trickling on the sides of his sharp jaw and neck. His hands are in his knees, eyes sharp with focus. Oikawa could - despite being a beta with a pitiful sense of smell - just _tell_ the frustration rising up within him.

19-24. The other team is on match point.

 _It’s just a practice match_ , Oikawa thinks, assuring himself that it’s not a big deal if they lose. _A practice match against the rival university_. His pride doesn’t allow him to calm down. The tension is heavy, and the weight of possibly losing pulls him down, especially when the team of alphas kept eyeballing him as if he’s weaker, which he is, scientifically, but as much as Oikawa likes science, sometimes science is wrong, and he's inclined to prove it.

He then hears a whistle blow. His shoulders drop when he sees the opposing team asking for a timeout.

“Oikawa, hey,” Iwaizumi calls out suddenly, walking a few steps away from the rotation to look at Oikawa. “What's up? Are you okay?”

Oikawa raises one brow, finding the question seemingly out of place. “Hm? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know," he says. His expression twists between worry and confusion. "You… smell kinda different.”

Oikawa's eyes narrow with a tilt of his head, then just shrugs. “Iwa-chan, I know you’re basically a dog when it comes to your sense of smell, but I’m fine. Tense, but fine. I shouldn’t smell like anything. You're sure it’s not just my lovely sweat?”

The other pitches him an irritated look. “Yeah, right.” Iwaizumi turns his head back to the net and regrets even asking. “Just focus on the game.”

Another whistle is heard and the alphas on the enemy court go back their positions. The server on the other side is tall, standing like a dictator, bouncing the ball a few times that caused a loud, thundering sound. Oikawa glances over to Hajime on his right, and their libero from a Tokyo high school on the other side. They’re the best receivers in the team at the moment, so Oikawa doesn’t worry. He's trying not to. Oikawa's teammates all came from pretty good high school teams. They’re also lucky enough to get a hold of that annoyingly good red-headed blocker from Shiratorizawa. Tendou Satori stands perfectly in place, his nonchalant figure giving out a glaring energy, like he's trying to suck his enemy's soul.

Oikawa immediately unties himself from his position when he hears the sound of the ball being hit. Their libero manages to hit it despite being on the opposite direction, and Oikawa runs to the course of the ball, his neck craning up to see where it would fall. He raises both his arms in unison, about to toss to Hajime when he feels a strong, stabbing pulse in the back of his eyes. His vision distorts just as the ball made contact with his clawed hands. The ball spins wrongly and Oikawa curses under his breath, losing his balance, falling back a bit. Iwaizumi shoots him a worried look before managing to hit the clumsy toss, but is blocked almost effortlessly.

The ball falls to the ground. And Oikawa does too.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s too late when Oikawa realizes that escaping might not have been the best idea.

After shaking hands with the winning team and congratulating them, Oikawa knew something felt very, very _off_. Because for some weird reason, Oikawa couldn’t look at the alphas in the eye. Not a single one. He kept his head tipped down as he shook each hand of the players. It was odd. Oikawa had always been a man of pride, his ego better fitting an alpha than a beta. But as he walked past those alphas, it seemed like his head and neck was being pulled down by a leash.

He ran away to the bathroom right before his own team could even notice - before Hajime could.

Oikawa’s legs give out from under him. The cold water he had splashed on his face did not help the warmth rising to his head as he sinks to the bathroom floor. His hands trembles when he looks at them, his vision blurring, eyeballs throbbing with every wheezing gasp. He feels something wet and painful beneath him – _inside him_. It’s weird and he clutches his stomach until he collapses on the floor. The icy tiles aren’t any better. It's numb - no, he isn’t numb, numb isn’t the right word. It _hurts_. Every part, every nook and cranny of his body _hurts –_ a sort of throbbing ache that lingers and sticks to the inside walls of his skin. A hot sensation pulsates in his midsection, letting out a dry sob as he coils in pain. Oikawa ensures himself that he’s fine, promising himself that he will be, but it’s hard when his forehead is pressed onto the cold, hard floor and his hands unconsciously rubbing against his skin. He sees his hands down below, and he can’t _stop,_ because he’s trickling with sweat and some other liquid and he feels empty from behind and the sound of his strained cries aren't loud enough to hide the sloppy, wet noises he’s making. 

It’s dark and hollow inside the bathroom, being located on the isolated third floor of the university’s sports complex. Despite being unused, the aching young man hears the door creak loudly. Oikawa’s ragged breathing stops in panic. He stops because he can basically smell it. He stops because it’s the first time he could tell.

It _smells_ like an alpha.

 _Iwa-chan?_ He’s the first thing that came into Oikawa’s mind. He doesn’t know Hajime's scent, or anyone’s scent for that matter, but he assumes it’s him, because Hajime is probably looking for him by now, and Hajime always manages to find him one way or another.

“So, you’re not a beta after all?”

The low, almost growling sound took Oikawa by surprise. It's not Iwaizumi. Oikawa’s breath hitches. He had never heard of that voice before. His brown, glassy eyes widen as the words echo back in his mind. _What did he mean by that?_ He asks himself in a spiraling confusion. The questions repeats in his head, but he's too disoriented to actually comprehend. He looks up slowly, and met eyes with the stranger – an alpha from the other team.

The player who served the winning ball.

“Here, let me help you.”

“I’m not—I’m not…!” Oikawa struggles to speak, and he’s sickened at himself because he probably looks so pathetic, can’t even try to hide the strain in his voice, can't even cover himself up. Breathing becomes harder and harder and the shame that quickly rose up to his cheeks made his face numb. A second later, he feels the alpha’s palm sliding against his skin, and the tingling sensation of the touch is nothing but  _disgusting_ and—

“N..Ngh!” Oikawa is surprised by the sudden sound. Because it came from his own mouth and it sounded absolutely vulgar. He flinches away immediately. “D-Don’t…! Get the hell away from me—!”  

The alpha positions himself next to a curling Oikawa as he feels a warm, hungry breath skating across his ear and jaw. Oikawa finally releases himself from his own clutching grip, and instead tries to push the man weighing him down. His arms are weak, and the alpha’s scent – the scent is _horrid_. Oikawa swallows hard through his dry throat before groaning in protest, attempting to coil his limbs together to protect himself. He feels the heat worsening, his body pumping out blood faster. Then there’s a hand pulling his body up, and it’s painful and Oikawa has no idea what’s happening until someone yanks the heaviness away.

The room spins when Oikawa falls back on the hard floor and catches a shadow, charging along with a very strong scent – sharp, angry, and heavy – he doesn’t know how to describe it yet, and he just goes with _familiar_. Right. It’s a familiar scent. He hears someone falling down, someone shouting, he hears running, the sound of footsteps, then he hears Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Oikawa!” The voice he hears is filled with urgency, and even more so as it echoed and bounced against the bathroom walls. “Oikawa, shit, what the fuck happened? Are you—?”

The person asking so many questions is loud, his arms wrapping around him to tug him away from the cold floor that lacks any ability to get rid of the heat circulating inside his body. He can’t hear anymore and Hajime's voice soon became incomprehensible babbling. Oikawa responds with an impulsive, lewd noise that came out from the back of his throat when he touches him. His hands, his scent, it's different, it’s _comforting._ He is tempted to lean against the warm body, all hard muscle, and the _smell_ – Oikawa can’t even define it. It’s the first time he can smell something like that.

Iwaizumi remains frantic, but gradually softens his voice.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Hajime says, his voice uncharacteristically low and soothing. There’s a strong arm around his back, and a hand running through his damp brown hair. He hushes and shushes and lets him curl up in his lap. Oikawa keeps his eyes closed, planting his face on the man’s shoulder and wrapping his long trembling arms around him.

“I-Iwa-chan,” he whimpers, his voice cracking. He's so relieved he could cry. “I don’t know what’s happening…” Oikawa finds that he can breathe better, hear better, and that he can _see_ better. “I feel—I feel weird, Iwa-chan. I don’t—I…” His body steadily stops quivering, and the uneasiness beneath his clothes somehow subsided, but it’s still there, _it’s still fucking there,_ and it seems like the inexhaustible kind of sensation Oikawa can’t get rid of in mere seconds. Opening his teary eyes, he sees an open door, the light washing over their sitting bodies. The alpha who had come in uninvited is long gone, but he remembers.

_You’re not a beta after all?_

It takes Oikawa less than a minute to figure it out.

He’s in heat. He’s a beta and he’s in fucking _heat_.

“W-What…” Oikawa sobs out suddenly. Reason slowly seeps in, but he still doesn’t understand. “I can’t—” He recalls the alpha who jumped him and how he reacted. The feeling of disgust makes him want to vomit. He's disgusted at himself, disgusted at how sensitive his entire body became. And he can’t help but sob at the thought, because he couldn’t believe that he was seconds away from giving in.

“Oikawa,” the one cradling him, the one with the oddly comforting scent speaks again, breaking his troubling thoughts. _I’m here, I’m here, don’t worry._ That’s what Hajime’s scent _sounded_ like. He didn’t say it, but Oikawa feels as if he did.

There’s ringing in his ears again, and his sight is starting to haze, fog clouding his eyes. Oikawa groans in discomfort. The weird pulse is there again, drumming from the inside.

With Oikawa still hanging onto his neck, Iwaizumi mutters a sound of frustration, swiftly sliding off his black jersey jacket to drape it around Oikawa's shaking figure. Oikawa’s scent is becoming thicker, and sweeter, and awfully more _inviting_. Iwaizumi feels the need to repel it before they can go outside. But most importantly, Oikawa _needs_ to subdue his heat, even just a little. He offers to take him to the hospital, or at least to the infirmary on the second floor, but Oikawa shakes his head in protest.

“I want to go home.”

Iwaizumi releases an audible sigh, looking at him like he’s crazy. They can't possibly escape the complex without a bunch of alphas sensing the copious amounts of pheromones Oikawa is releasing. Not even Iwaizumi can mask his scent. It’s his _first_ heat – the worst kind, and the most unbearable some say. It doesn't help that they’re in a sports complex with a large number of alpha athletes. Iwaizumi clicks his tongue, breathing more heavily as his panic grows. Oikawa's heat is beginning to take a toll on him. His worried green eyes glance at his best friend, who is still clinging onto him, his other arm gripping his stomach, panting and gasping in pain. He's keeping his legs pressed together as if it could help suppress his heat.

The throbbing down south doesn’t subside, even with Hajime's calming aura.

But Iwaizumi is also an alpha, and he’d be lying if he denied being affected by Oikawa’s crazy pheromones, because it did. All that’s keeping him sane is Oikawa’s trust that he won’t do anything stupid, he trusts that Iwaizumi _trusts_ himself, and that was enough to keep the alpha from going wild.

“C-Can you walk?” he asks in a strained voice, even though he pretty much knows the answer. Oikawa shakes his head ‘no’ and Iwaizumi curses with a release of a breath, because even though he’s an alpha and has yet to encounter an omega in heat, biology classes were enough for him to know that Oikawa needs to release that heat inside of him. “Alright, listen to me, you need to get rid of this.” Iwaizumi purses his dry lips, feeling flushed himself. His hands cup Oikawa's face. “You know what to do, right? Oikawa? Hey, can you hear me? I’ll be right outside and make sure no one gets in, got it?”

Oikawa hesitates, his hands and shoulders shaking, his lids heavy. He didn’t want to let go, but he has to, and a few words of encouragement later, Oikawa pulls away and nods wearily. His voice is feeble and raspy.

“O-Okay.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It hurts when his fingers went in. Even though Oikawa is dripping as much as a bag of ice, it still felt uncomfortable. It doesn’t hurt because it's painful _,_ it hurts because his fingers just aren't enough. He makes an unsatisfied sound as he squirms and longs for something deeper. Oikawa writhes on the cold floor. _It’s going to be okay_ , he repeats Hajime's words. He hits release hard and fast, but it still didn’t do anything about the arousal boiling in every part of his body.

“Fuck, _fuck,_ nngh… hurts… it hurts…”

Oikawa grinds into different positions, and had taken off most of his clothes without noticing. Low, miserable streams of curses and orgasms later and Oikawa still felt like shit. He collapses on the floor out of exhaustion, only to do the same thing again and again, his body still yearning for a particular touch.

“Oikawa?” the alpha on the other side of the door asks. “It’s been half an hour. Are you…?”

There are no words after that and Iwaizumi is quiet again. Oikawa didn’t realize the time. Both of them had no idea how long Oikawa would need to relieve himself, and Hajime was unfortunately just as clueless as he is about the whole thing. A loud, tired exhale came out from his dry, parted lips. Oikawa just wishes this crazy heat fever would subside soon.

“Oikawa?” he hears him ask again.

“I’m… I’m okay, Iwa-chan,” he replies weakly. “Just… a little bit more…” It’s weird talking to his friend while he’s switching between fucking his own hand and shoving his fingers up his ass. His heat-daze seems to worsen as his mind keeps telling him to invite Hajime in. Oikawa regrets his thoughts immediately, and shakes his head to get rid of the awkward voices in his head. He’s well aware that he looks pathetic and filthy already, and he doesn't need Hajime to see him like that firsthand and add up to his growing list of embarrassing things that had happened today.

Iwaizumi, on the other hand, can smell everything, can _hear_ everything – the wet noises, the soft groans of either pain or pleasure. It’s kind of hard not to think about it despite his greatest efforts to stop himself from imagining his best friend relieving himself, largely because he can hear Oikawa from the bathroom and there aren’t any other things he could possible do in there. Iwaizumi turns his head to face the door when it’s suddenly quiet. He calls out Oikawa’s name again, but this time there’s no response, not even grunts, or whimpers. Worry shoots through him.

“Hey, you alright? I’m going in—”

Iwaizumi opens the door, creaking as he slides it slowly so the light wouldn’t flow right away. The darkness helps in obscuring Oikawa’s curled up figure. The first thing that bursts Iwaizumi’s senses is the strong scent of heat, saturating the small room with a bewitching aroma. He almost backs down, almost runs away, but he can’t stand the thought of leaving Oikawa in that state.

“Iwa-chan?” he whispers through unsteady breaths.

He doesn’t completely close the door before kneeling next to a dazed Oikawa. With skin damp with sweat and other things, his lips part as he breathes entirely through his mouth. Oikawa jerks when he feels himself being hoisted onto his lap again and ends up falling asleep in outright exhaustion. Even in the dark, Iwaizumi can tell he’s naked, but what had struck him the most was the fact that the feverish young man is wearing his jacket – Iwaizumi's jacket – and it’s just horribly _soaked_ with every single odorous, bodily chemical Oikawa can dispense. Iwaizumi wonders how much detergent he needs to use to be able to wear it again.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The health center on the second floor is small, occupied by a nurse who goes by the name of Juri-san. Iwaizumi, carrying the bag Oikawa had forgotten back in the lockers, sees her immediately when he opens the door.

“How is he?” he asks, concerned eyes looking over to the clipboard Juri-san is holding.

“I gave him something to calm his nerves down,” she says, standing up from her chair. She’s short even with two inches of white high heels on, Iwaizumi notices. He wishes she could give him a sedative too, because his heart is still pounding thanks to Oikawa’s newfound scent. “I can’t give him suppressants yet, since, just as you’ve said earlier, this is Oikawa-san’s first heat.”

Iwaizumi crunches his eyebrows together. “He's not an omega. If he is, he should’ve presented a long time ago,” he says, shaking his head in confusion. Iwaizumi presented as an alpha at an early age of eleven, and supposedly Oikawa would’ve presented at this age too. His showing didn't come, which led them to believe that he was just a beta, much to Oikawa’s dismay. His folks somehow expected that Oikawa, with his figure and personality, would turn out to be an alpha like Iwaizumi. He was bright and stubborn and reached for the stars, so a young Oikawa burst into tears when he realized that he wouldn't present at all. Iwaizumi wonders, staring at the curtains that separated him from Oikawa, how many more times he’d whine now that there's a possibility that he's an omega.

“I’ll go into detail once Oikawa-san wakes up,” the nurse says, smiling up to him in reassurance. “All you need to know is that he’s fine and there’s nothing to be worried about, okay?”

Her voice is comforting, and Iwaizumi’s nervous heart feels lighter somehow.

Iwaizumi doesn’t go home just yet, deciding to stay in the clinic until Oikawa wakes up. It’s not a good idea to leave him like that. The pheromones Oikawa had been giving off had thankfully died down, and Iwaizumi can finally breathe normally. Juri-san doesn’t let anyone enter the scent-proof examination room, and instead ushers any injured student into her personal office.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa murmurs in between groans, slowly drifting out of his heat-induced sleep.

Iwaizumi walks to the side of the bed as soon as he heard his name, greeted by Oikawa's red, flushed face - his usual pale skin looking pink and damp with sweat.

“Oikawa?" he calls out, his tone hinting his worry. Oikawa blinks his eyes until he can open them fully, looking like caramel gemstones against the bright fluorescent lights. There’s still something heavy inside him. It’s weighing him down – his arms, his legs, and every joint in his body. He takes the bottle of water Hajime offers and drinks a couple of gulps. The cotton blanket that wrapped Oikawa shuffles as he tries to raise his upper body.

“Oh _god_ ,” he drones in a sickly voice, his expression changing drastically in sudden realization. “We lost the game.”

“ _That’s_ what you’re worried about?” Iwaizumi almost yells in annoyance. He goes over and pinches Oikawa’s nose hard, ignoring Oikawa's nasal ‘ow, ow, ow! I’m sick you know!’ and stopping himself from punching the guy. “You went in heat, got jumped by that fucking  _asshole_ , and you’re worried about that stupid practice match?”

Oikawa nurses his nose with his hands when Iwaizumi lets go, squeezing his eyes shut. “They’re the rival university! They’re gonna think we’re weak!”

“So what? You're well aware that we’re not!” Iwaizumi yells out, and regrets it, thinking afterwards that he should careful with his tone now that Oikawa will probably grow more sensitive to it, if he did turn out to be _not_ a beta. He looks away. “I told their coach what that shithead alpha did. He’ll get kicked out of the team for sure.”

His face twists into a serious expression, frowning when he recalls the incident. His head dips down to look at his shaky hands. "I hope he gets kicked out of school.”

"Yeah." Iwaizumi’s brows furrow, hands tightening into fists. "I hope so."

Then the door opens, causing Iwaizumi to spin around in reflex.

“Oikawa-san, you’re awake,” a voice chimes in happily as the door opened. Iwaizumi breathes out the air he had been holding in. _It’s just Juri-san_ , he thinks with relief.

“I’m the nurse for today, Amagawa Juri. You can just call me Juri-san,” she introduces herself with a warm smile. Oikawa thinks it fits her tender features. “Okay, so let's get your vitals first. Oikawa-san, can you please sit up?” He nods, muttering a small ‘okay’. Instinctively, Iwaizumi looks away when Oikawa tries to lift himself up by propping his weak elbows on the bed. He glances back and remembers that Oikawa isn’t half-naked anymore, and that he's wearing one of Iwaizumi’s extra t-shirts and sweatpants. “Iwaizumi-san here had to carry you all the way here, you know,” she says to Oikawa, and Iwaizumi wishes she didn’t.

“Oh, wow, I’m surprised he can still carry me, Juri-san. I used to be heavier than him back in high school,” he says mockingly. It made Juri-san giggle while she’s preparing a blood pressure gauge, urging him to go on. “Iwa-chan used to carry me a lot when we were kids, so I guess he's used to it,” Oikawa muses fondly as if Iwaizumi isn’t in the room with them.

The nurse is humming in amusement as she wraps a nylon cuff around his upper arm. “Really? You’ve known each other for that long?”

“Yeah, kind of. Our moms are best friends.”

“That’s cute,” she comments with a smile, pressing the pump until the cuff squeezed his arm hard enough. “You met as infants then?” Oikawa nods and keeps talking about his Iwa-chan and how he’s so dependable and honest and everything else Iwaizumi seems to be embarrassed about, and he's doing it all on purpose. The subject of their conversation looks away, blushing, hand covering his eyes, silently hoping Oikawa would stop opening his mouth and spouting nonsense. Juri-san seems to enjoy chatting with Oikawa, but she stops for a while when she sticks in the end of her stethoscope under the cuff. She mentions something about his blood pressure being a bit higher than normal.

Oikawa flinches when Juri-san checked his temperature with a cold ear thermometer. It reads 37°C.

"Hm. Seems like you’re coming up with a fever again.”

Their conversations to purposely embarrass Hajime dies down. Oikawa purses his lips, eyes darkening. “Juri-san, what happened to me?” Oikawa asks with a voice lower than usual, his serious tone muting the room. His brows downturn in worry. “I’m not supposed to... be in _heat_.”

Iwaizumi watches him as he speaks, watches every flicker of his eyelids, every quiver in his lip.

“It’s uncommon, but it does happen,” she starts, wrapping the stethoscope around her neck after checking his pulse. Oikawa waits for an answer. Does it happen to betas? Maybe it's just a symptom of some other disease? Juri-san places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Some omegas present late in their years, some experience their first estrous cycle in their late twenties, even.” She stops for a second or two. “You may have presented as an omega, Oikawa-san.”

Oikawa is quiet for once, and Iwaizumi understands.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa’s heat only lasted for three days, but his misery and whining never stopped ever since.

It’s a Saturday, and Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to deal with a depressed Oikawa moping around their apartment, acting like he had acquired some sort of terminal illness worse than cancer. Oikawa ended up not going to class for two days, locking himself up in his room – which was crazy because they _shared_ the single bedroom of the apartment and Iwaizumi couldn’t go in and out as much as he wanted. He slept in the living room, not because Oikawa told him to, but because of the _smell_ Oikawa brazenly left wafting in their room. It drove him to the edge, and Iwaizumi had to shamelessly fix himself up in the bathroom a few times.

Oikawa hasn’t come out of the room today, although Iwaizumi had been trying to coax him out since early morning. The sun is high up in the sky now and Iwaizumi is already thinking about going out for lunch while Oikawa still hasn’t eaten breakfast.

“Hey, get out of there, dumbass!”

“Leave me alone!” Oikawa cries out from the other side. If he knew any better, Iwaizumi could imagine him curled up, wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, sulking and grumbling about his unfortunate life. Iwaizumi grunts in irritation. His first heat is over – if anything, he should be happy.

Iwaizumi knocked on the door again. More angrily this time. “Let’s eat out! We don’t have any more food in here!” He shouts. Oikawa doesn’t respond, which worries Iwaizumi somehow. His mother always tells him to mind his energy and state of mind around other people, especially after presenting. Maybe Oikawa didn’t like his tone? Iwaizumi mutters a series of worried curses as he paces in front of the door. He stops and clears his throat. Perhaps he needs an alternative approach.

“Oikawa.”

Still no response.

“Oikawa, come out,” he says, a bit softer now. He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips. He isn’t very good at this. “I know a good place with amazing curly fries.”

Silence.

Iwaizumi’s shoulders slump, thinking how stupid he is for trying to bribe Oikawa out with fucking curly fries.

But a few seconds later, the door opens slightly, creaking, then he hears a small voice.

“Where?”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa angrily bites off half of a curly fry like he’s biting off a head of a small humanoid.

“You’d think having alpha parents will give me the gift of being an alpha too, but _noooo_. One day, the deities decided, ‘look at this handsome, incredibly talented boy! Let’s make his life harder by making him an omega!’” Oikawa chews furiously. “What a load of bullshit.”

“Agreed. Bullshit on the ‘handsome, incredibly talented’ part, yeah,” Iwaizumi retorts in a monotone voice. He mixes his fries along with the chili, mushrooms and the ridiculous amount cheese and jalapenos with a fork before helping himself with a big bite.

“Iwa-chan is still so mean,” Oikawa fake sobs, wiping fake tears from his eyes. He takes the crispiest curly fry, pointing it at Iwaizumi. “ _You_ should be nicer to me! But I guess nature is nature, and _naturally,_ alphas will always treat omegas like shit. Just like the good old days.” Oikawa sighs as if he is reminiscing a fond memory.

“I’ve always treated you like shit even _before_ you presented. What’s the big deal?” Iwaizumi simply says and proceeds to steal the fry Oikawa pointed at him, biting onto it.

Oikawa places a hand on his chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, shall I provide an explanation so Your Royal Alphaness’ small brain can understand?” he asks mockingly. “As you may already know, yours truly is now part of the _lowest_ caste! Even prehistoric omegas were treated poorly. They were the scapegoats, the communal toy. I mean, they were given the lowest priority in food distribution! They starved them to death, Iwa-chan! And right now, even Iwa-chan is stealing my fries! What does _that_ tell you?”

“I’m not the one they call the Great King in the court,” he says with a scowl, sipping on a large cup of coke. Iwaizumi isn’t really someone who boasts about his alpha status, unlike Oikawa who pretty much brags about everything. “And stop with that primitive hierarchical bullshit. It’s the 21st century. It’s not like that anymore.”

“Yeah, well, try looking at the news for once and you’ll see every single crime is almost exclusively committed against omegas,” Oikawa says, annoyed. “I’m a living example! Not even an hour after my showing and a fucking alpha asshole decides it’s perfectly fine to—” Oikawa air quotes. “—‘ _help me’_.” He inclines back on his chair and goes on to murder his fries with the fork. He clicks his tongue, disappointed. “That’s society for you. I bet that douchebag is still in the team.”

Iwaizumi’s expression changes into disgust as soon as he recalls. Just remembering that alpha who attacked Oikawa makes Iwaizumi's blood boil. He had heard from their assistant coach that the alpha suffered from a broken nose, and was mysteriously removed from the team right after the game. “He’s not,” he assures him, just so Oikawa would lighten up. They were supposed to have a light-hearted curly-fries-filled lunch, not an afternoon of talking about Oikawa's declining faith in humanity. “He got kicked out.”

“And I will have the same fate as that bastard once the coach finds out.” Oikawa sounded so sure, and Iwaizumi frowns at his pessimism. “He looks down on omegas. Everyone does.”

He raises his brow, hating the unending negativity coming out from Oikawa. “I know _you_ do.” He takes some fries from Oikawa’s plate, because his is a different flavor, and not because of that low priority food distribution nonsense Oikawa is babbling about. As revenge, Oikawa pouts and steals some from Iwaizumi as well, but regrets it instantly because it's way too spicy. “I never had problems with omegas.”

“To be fair, that was _before_ I presented. Second, of course you don’t, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa pauses to fan his face, as if it could get rid of the hotness of the chili fries. “Omegas do nothing but look up to you.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to speak, but their argument is cut short when Oikawa’s phone starts ringing from his pockets. He grabs his phone and lights it up. Iwaizumi cranes his head to take a peek when he sees Oikawa’s brows scrunch up in confusion.

“Huh? Why is my mom calling? She never...” Oikawa then whips his head up to face Iwaizumi, his eyes now big and wide in horror. “You told her, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, this morning." Iwaizumi, mouth still full, tries to explain. "She called me because you weren’t replying to her messages. What was I supposed to say?”

“Nothing! You should’ve said _nothing,_ Iwa-chan! She’s gonna be so worried and, ugh, nevermind—Oh, hi mom! How _are_ you?” Iwaizumi stifles a laugh at the sudden change of pitch in Oikawa’s voice. Oikawa sees this and narrows his eyes at him, sticking out his tongue. “Iwa-chan told you _what?_ Okay, no, mom, calm down, I _was_ about to tell you—” Oikawa frowns threateningly at Iwaizumi “—today but it seems Iwa-chan got ahead of me. I couldn’t call you for the past few days. I was feeling, uh, you know, _sick_.”

And by ‘sick’ he meant ‘wildly aroused’. It’s weird saying that to a worrying mother, so Oikawa opts for another word. She already knows anyway. He sees Hajime biting his lip to stop another laugh.

“Mom, it’s fine, you don’t have to go all the way here,” Oikawa says in desperation, rubbing his temples. “I’m okay now! Juri-san says it happens a lot - well, not  _a lot_ , but sometimes. But I’ll take suppressants next month and everything will be back to normal.” Iwaizumi watches him. He can tell Oikawa isn't too sure with his own words, his fake positivity evident in his tone. “No, mom, don’t, the drive’s too long, I don’t want to waste your time.” Oikawa switches the phone to his other ear, his voice a little more nervous than before. He searches for Hajime's green hazel eyes before saying, “Yeah, Iwa-chan’s with me.”

Iwaizumi wolfs down the cheesiest french fry before raising a brow at Oikawa. He wonders if his parents would disapprove their living situation now that Oikawa had presented. A non-mating alpha and omega living together is considered questionable to most people. He knows that. It's something they’ve seen in television and movies – and most of them do _not_ end well despite its regularity in the real world. It can’t be helped if Iwaizumi has to move out, if that makes it easier for Oikawa, but he can’t really say he’ll be too happy about it – especially when they’ve agreed long ago that they’ll share the apartment until further notice. Iwaizumi continues to unconsciously chew on the fries like they’re the hardest curly fries in the world.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls out seconds later, giving him the phone. Iwaizumi stops mid-chew. “Mom wants to talk to you.”

He quickly swallows the food he was still munching on and quickly pushes Oikawa's phone to his ear. “H-Hello?” He's rarely nervous when he talks to Oikawa’s mother, since he considers her more of a second mother. But the situation is a bit complicated this time around and Iwaizumi finds himself sweating even when the air's cold.

“ _Hajime-kun?_ ”

“Y-Yes?”

“ _I just want to thank you for taking care of Tooru. He isn’t too much of a bother, is he?_ ”

“No, not at all!” Iwaizumi sits upright by reflex, hoping his mother won't see right through his lie (because when has Oikawa been  _not_ a bother?) He sees the man in question laughing at him this time. The alpha throws him a silent threat, dragging his thumb across his neck to imitate a guillotine.

“ _Please take care of him_ ,” she says in a lovely manner, as if she's asking for a huge favor. “ _As much as we want to be there for him, we can't, and Tooru doesn’t like it when we worry about him. We have nothing but trust in you, Hajime-kun. I hope you won’t get tired of Tooru, now that’s he’s an omega._ ” Iwaizumi’s eyes soften, but he doesn’t speak. His gaze switches from the fries to a restless Oikawa, who is mouthing out words soundlessly, curious about what his mother is saying. Iwaizumi hears her laughing softly on the other line. “ _He’s spoiled silly, but Hajime-kun seems like the only one who can put up with him. Don’t leave him, okay?_ ”

Iwaizumi is honestly surprised with her decision, the guilt boiling down in his gut slowly fading. They trust him a little too much. Gulping nervously, he blinks and stares at Oikawa for a long while before replying.

“I won’t.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The streets are empty late in the night, the lampposts and stray cats being the only ones providing him company as Iwaizumi crosses the street. It’s a pretty unusual sight for Tokyo nights to be this quiet, and Iwaizumi breathes in the cold air to cherish it all. The university campus buildings can be seen from afar, even when it’s dark. They're higher and brighter than most in the area, and Iwaizumi think they stand out quite beautifully. It’s only a couple of minutes away from where he and Oikawa is living. They're lucky they found a fairly priced apartment in the vicinity, as most of the mansions and rentals in the area are insanely expensive. He then turns to a corner. There’s a car that would drive by every now and then, but it’s rare enough that Iwaizumi doesn’t have to look at both sides of the road before finally reaching the university’s rear gate.

The small gymnasium adjacent to Building 5 - where the Faculty of Sciences and Engineering classrooms are located – is nestled between tall, large trees that made it appear even smaller. It’s old, and still had that red brick aesthetic going on despite the university’s modern architectural shift. The scaffolding on the front didn’t really quite help in improving the building’s image. Lights are still on, and it brightened up the surrounding foliage as the fluorescents escaped through long, high rectangular windows.

 _Old habits die hard,_ he thinks as he hears a volleyball punching the ground hard. Iwaizumi then slides open the heavy, tarnished doors, greeted by a familiar scene.

“The nurse said you shouldn’t stress your body too much,” Iwaizumi says as a greeting, although the young man picking up the volleyball from the floor ignores him completely. He approaches the side of the net that Oikawa pulled up by himself. “It leads to harsher… uh, cycles.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to word it better - ‘estrous cycle’ seems too scientific. ‘Heat’ and 'estrus' are probably Oikawa’s least favorite words right now next to ‘omega’. He always make a disapproving noise whenever anything related to his status is mentioned.

“Yeah? Well, I never had this problem before,” Oikawa says bitterly, chewing on the insides of his cheeks. Iwaizumi watches as Oikawa walks back to the baseline and flicks his wrist to spin the ball up. He moves forward from his position once the ball is airborne, then he leaps. His hand hits the ball so hard Iwaizumi could feel the utter frustration that spun with it. It smacks the ground with a thundering sound.

Iwaizumi walks over and picks it up. “There’s no point whining about it now,” he says as he clumsily tosses the ball to Oikawa’s direction on purpose, and as if by pure reflex, Oikawa tosses it back to Iwaizumi, who spikes the shit out of it.

“Show off,” Oikawa mutters, puffing his cheek and pouting his lips.

“You’re one to talk,” he says, frowning. He throws another ball towards Oikawa, but he extends his arms and receives it instead. “Hey, I know you’re still pretty bummed about all of this,” he pauses, gazing over to Oikawa who’s mindlessly picking up another ball. Iwaizumi licks his lips, uncertain of what to say. “But I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.” He draws in a deep breath. "You always do."

Oikawa glances back at him, almost in shock. But he stays quiet, and Iwaizumi doesn’t like it.

He doesn’t like when he’s frowning, doesn’t like it when his eyebrows are scrunched down in frustration, and his lips pressed and is quivered into a thin, straight line. 

Oikawa averts his eyes away. “Easy for you to say.”

It’s faint, but Iwaizumi catches the soft scent from the cold, wafting air – a bitter, but delicate aroma. It’s the scent of tears, and the blue scent of Oikawa’s woes. Iwaizumi’s body automatically moves forward to reach out, hearing the grown man sniff and gasp as he grasped a ball in his hands like he can crush it, letting the tears fall and not bothering to wipe them.

“Seriously, how old are you? You’re still crying about this?” Iwaizumi tells him with a loud sigh. He pulls him down by the collar, and by instinct, lifts his arm to roughly wipe Oikawa’s tears with his entire sleeve, because it seems like the other boy doesn’t have the intention of doing it himself. There’s something about an omega in distress, something that makes one want to protect them. But even if Oikawa isn’t an omega, Iwaizumi is sure he’ll still do the same thing.

“If the coach finds out I’m… I’m – he’s definitely kicking me off the first string.” Oikawa grasps the ball harder. “Have you seen how he talks about omega players? He  _loathes_ them.”

“Coach isn’t stupid enough to bench you.” Iwaizumi doesn't take their coach lightly. It’ll be a big mistake to remove Oikawa from the first string. They may have two other setters in the team, and while they're good players, they know they aren't as good as Oikawa. Sugawara Koushi from Karasuno, who applied for the same university and the same volleyball club, is a great setter, and Iwaizumi thinks highly of him. But Oikawa is an even _greater_ setter, and Sugawara himself acknowledges that. “You’ve already proven yourself a long time ago. You won’t be kicked out. I won’t let him,” Iwaizumi says in a strong, assuring voice. He sighs through his nose when a new set of tears came falling down from his cinnamon eyes. "I swear it."

Oikawa shakes his head in frustration. “But this means I have to stay home for a _week_ , every _month_. The semester just started, Iwa-chan! And the Bunkyo Tournament is coming up too! I can’t afford to miss practice _and_ miss my classes!” he yells out in utter frustration. “To make it worse, everyone will know I’m an omega sooner or later! And they’ll look down on me and torment me and—”

Iwaizumi smothers his face with his sleeves again so he could stop talking, this time a little rougher, hoping it would wipe away the week-long negativity Oikawa had been harboring. “You idiot. That’s why you have suppressants.” He tries not to shout, careful not to override Oikawa’s already weak energy. “And why the fuck are you so worried? I’m right here! I won’t let anything happen to you!”

He finally releases Oikawa’s face, and he sees that his big brown eyes are puffy and red and his nose is running. It made him remember the time when Oikawa didn’t present at all, while Iwaizumi did. It’s the same exact face, same color, same exact expression. It’s easy to imagine a younger Oikawa crying buckets if he presented as an omega early on, but Iwaizumi did _not_ expect a twenty-year old Oikawa reacting just the same. Iwaizumi smiles at their memories of childhood, then he smiles warmly at Oikawa, too.

“You look so fucking ugly when you cry.”

“What the hell, Iwa-chan," he murmurs with a sniffle and looks up, his nose scrunching at the sudden insult. He lets it go when he sees the alpha's soft eyes. "You're still so mean, even when I'm like this."

If there’s one thing Oikawa appreciates with his brand new superpowers, it’s his amazing sense of smell. And he could tell just from Hajime’s scent alone that everything will be alright.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s 17°C when Iwaizumi wakes up to a sweating, hyperventilating, 38°C Oikawa on the bed next to him.

Tossing his covers away, Iwaizumi jumps frantically from his own bed to the other.

“What the fuck,” he mutters in complete confusion as soon as he breathes in the air. Kneeling down by Oikawa’s bedside, Iwaizumi presses his palm on his damp forehead, and it’s like he had just touched bread fresh out of the oven. He attempts to forget that very distinctive scent warming up the supposedly cold room, whispering a sequence of curses as he panics to yank the sheets that didn’t help with Oikawa’s increasing body temperature.

Contrasting Iwaizumi’s skin that’s covered in goosebumps because of the cold, Oikawa’s skin is flushed pink, and despite the excessive sweat, his skin is dry to Iwaizumi’s touch. Oikawa is curled up like a loose ball, hands absently clutching his stomach, his clothes soaked to the bone. Panicking, Iwaizumi unconsciously whispers his name several times as he climbed closer on one knee, slipping Oikawa’s shirt off, sticky and heavy with sweat. He clicks his tongue when Oikawa’s breath becomes more rapid and shallow, exhaling and inhaling entirely through his dry, parted mouth.

It’s there again, that goddamn  _scent_. It stings his nostrils and mind – musky and unique, and moments later, Iwaizumi instinctively describes the scent as _tempting_.

“You’re in heat,” Iwaizumi breathes out in realization, hazel eyes wide in disbelief. "This isn’t supposed to happen," Iwaizumi keeps repeating along the gust of the cold draft. His heat ended days ago. He was acting fine and normal recently, so it doesn’t make sense that he's having his heat again. Iwaizumi shakes his head, clearing his mind and attempting to ignore the fragrance and pheromones generously floating in the air – and _failing_ , because he feels his heart pumping blood much, _much_ faster.

“Shit, shit, what do I do, what do I do—” Iwaizumi chants quietly as he could practically hear Oikawa’s racing heart, desperately trying to cool his body down. He goes ahead and covers the feverish omega with a thinner sheet when he notices him shaking. With slight hesitation, Iwaizumi goes and searches for his phone which had fallen earlier when he jumped out of bed.

He calls for help.

Should he call Juri-san? No, no, no, he doesn’t have her number. He writes a mental reminder to pass by the clinic and ask for her number. Should he call Oikawa’s mom? No way, it’ll probably give her a heart attack. Matsukawa, maybe? Or Hanamaki? Iwaizumi regrets ever considering them as an option. They know just as little as him. He sits on the edge of Oikawa’s bed and browses anxiously through his contacts. He sees his friends' names, then his teammates', until Sugawara’s name pops up.

And thank god he chose him.

Iwaizumi isn’t surprised when Sugawara provides him excellent suggestions. Even though he’s a beta, somehow, he knew what Iwaizumi should do. 'Give Oikawa lots of water’ – _check_. ‘Cover him in his favorite scent’ – well, _check,_ kind of? Iwaizumi doesn’t know what his favorite scent is, but he remembers that he liked his jacket, so maybe his own scent will do for now. ‘Try to cool him down’ (in a regular way, not in the _natural_ _alpha_ way) – _check,_ probably. Iwaizumi prepares ice packs, and sticks a Koolfever patch on Oikawa’s forehead. He hears Oikawa silently sigh in comfort after trailing the ice pack across the warmest parts of his body.

Oikawa’s eyes open slowly several minutes later. He finds it hard to open them completely, his fuzzy vision adjusting to the light and the bulky figure of Hajime sitting beside him. He’s talking with someone on the phone and Oikawa can’t quite make out his words. His breaths became deeper and slower, and Oikawa can hear a second heartbeat inside his head. Still dusted with drowsiness, Oikawa tries to move his limbs, then he realizes he’s half-naked and there’s a very calming scent that's surrounding his body.

“Okay? And then what? Can he take suppressants or not yet?”

Oikawa hears him now. He can also smell nothing but anxiety around Hajime.

“Yeah, I got him wrapped up in my scent if that helps,” he says. Oikawa wonders about that before noticing the blanket enfolding him neck to toe belongs to Hajime. It’s oddly sedative.

He lets his gaze wander around the room. His vision is bleary and a bit brighter than normal, his eyes overexposing any source of light, making Oikawa squint his eyes. He notices that the angle is different from his view. There’s a water pitcher and a half-empty glass on the bedside table, except the table is on his left. The clock on the wall is too far on the right and it says seven-thirty. The windows are opened slightly and are too close.

He’s on Hajime’s bed.

His throat immediately dries up when he attempts to speak.

“Iwa-chan?”

The man in question whips his head back. “Oh, shit. He’s awake,” he says in both surprise and relief. “I’ll call you back. Thanks. I owe you.”

“It’s hot…” Oikawa breathes out, his voice strained and weak. A pain shoots through his midsection. He grunts at the sudden pain, hands caressing his aching abdomen. “W-What’s happening?”

Iwaizumi bites his bottom lip. He notices Oikawa’s teary, red-rimmed eyes, and presses a palm on his neck to check if his temperature cooled down. Oikawa winces slightly at the touch. “You’re, _uh,_ in heat, _again._ Something about… r-reproductive realignment or some shit, I don’t know, _fuck,_ uh… just don’t worry, alright? You’ll be fine, Oikawa.”

It’s strange, but he likes how Hajime said his name. It’s husky and warm. He hardly ever says his name like that. Oikawa’s mouth curves weakly into a smile.

After a moment, Oikawa lets his heavy lids fall again. “Don’t you have… class?” he asks with hesitation, voice nasal, eyes closed. He doesn't know why he asked that when he unconsciously wants Iwaizumi to stay.

“Idiot,” Iwaizumi says simply. “I can’t leave you like this.”

 _Because this isn’t right_ , Iwaizumi worries inwardly. Sugawara thought so as well. Oikawa shouldn’t be in heat anymore – not until next month. He doesn’t want to leave Oikawa. What if he needs to be rushed to the hospital? What if this isn’t normal at all? What if this escalates into an actual emergency?

A burning hand grabs his wrist and snaps him out of his negative thoughts.

“It’s okay,” Oikawa says faintly, his grip tightening. “You don’t have to skip class for me.” Iwaizumi scowls and before he can say anything, Oikawa flashes him a smile that reeks with guilt. “If Iwa-chan says I’ll be fine, then I’ll be fine, right?”

It’s going to eat him up if he knew Hajime had to miss class for him. Iwaizumi didn’t want to add to that guilt. Oikawa has always been a self-governing king, and it probably causes physical pain for him to rely so much on other people. He likes being the one people rely on. Not the other way around. Iwaizumi just nods, considering his suggestion. "Okay," he tells him in a hushed voice.

Iwaizumi takes one deep breath, then exhales heavily. He thinks it’s amazing how fast Oikawa falls asleep. When he removes the Koolfever patch from Oikawa’s forehead, and places his palm on it, it seems like it's only natural for his hand to graze up to his hair, running his fingers through the messy curls beaded with sweat. Oikawa must’ve found it relaxing, as he easily drifted back to sleep while Iwaizumi combs his hair with his hand.

When Oikawa is asleep, Iwaizumi stands up from where he had been sitting, leaving a warm dent on the bed that made Oikawa instinctively furrow his brows. In several minutes, Iwaizumi was able to dress up and get ready, putting on a shirt thicker than last week and a hooded jacket to cover it all. The weather is getting colder, so it’s such a mystery to him how Oikawa could be so warm and sweaty.

Well, he _is_ in heat. They aren’t called ‘heats’ for no reason – although Iwaizumi never expected it to be so literal.

Aqueous gray eyes glances over to the bedbound man wrapped up in Iwaizumi’s blankets and sheets, second thinking if it’s really a good idea to leave. He bends a bit, leaning closer to Oikawa’s face.

“Oikawa,” he murmurs quietly, but loud enough to stir the young man awake. He places Oikawa’s phone next to his pillow. “I’m going now. Call me right away if something happens.” _And_ _I’ll come running._

Oikawa hums as a reply and nods his head twice. He then hears the faint sound of the door closing.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Where’s Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi stops in the middle of stretching when he hears the question from afar. He turns his head to their team manager, who shrugs when the coach asks him about the missing player. It won’t take long before—

“Iwaizumi!” the coach yells out from the bleachers, his voice echoing throughout the court. “Come over here!”

He bites his lip, exchanging nervous looks with Sugawara who’s on the other side of the net. He jogs towards where the coach is sitting, telling himself to stay calm on the way there.

“Where’s Oikawa?” he asks again, arms crossed. “He won’t come to practice again?”

His voice is deep and Iwaizumi can sense the disappointment. “He’s still sick.”

“Is that so?” he says, watching Iwaizumi’s expression with suspicion. He stands up. “Care to elaborate?”

Iwaizumi looks down and thinks for a moment. It's hard to look at him at times, more so if he's angry. Coach Inoue is a stout but hard built man from Kobe. He always stands firmly and resolutely, his withered face drawn by wrinkles of old age. But that doesn’t drag his perception down. He’s an alpha from head to toe, and even as he stood in front of Iwaizumi, who's taller, he still holds that air of authority around him.

“He caught a cold,” Iwaizumi says more sternly.

Coach Inoue sharpens his eyes at him. “I heard from the Hosei coach that their spiker assaulted one of our players.” Iwaizumi stiffens immediately. “One of our _omega_ players.” He removes his hands from his waist and crosses them tightly. “We don’t _have_ omega players.” The young man looks away. “But a certain Iwaizumi Hajime told him we did.”

Iwaizumi closes his eyes and sighs in surrender. He's going to find out sooner or later anyway, so he might as well admit it now. “Oikawa, he… well, he – he presented after the game last week.”

The man widens his eyes, then scoffs at the news. He lets out an unimpressed laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “How untimely.”

“You won't kick him off from the first string, right?” Iwaizumi asks with hesitation and worry.

The coach looks at him for a long moment. “You see, if he can't train like he usually does I can't see why I can't have him replaced in official games for a while."

Iwaizumi’s hands ball into fists. "It's only for this week, coach,” he swears, trying to stop himself from growling. “He just presented and he can’t use suppressants yet. It takes time getting used to. He'll be in good sha—”

“Listen, Iwaizumi. I don’t like having distractions in my team. There's a reason why I don't like omega players. If Oikawa doesn’t—”

"No, coach, listen to _me_ ,” Iwaizumi snarls at him, the gray in his eyes shifting sharply. He clenches his teeth, his feet heavy on the ground. “That guy deals with a lot more crap than anyone in this team. He earned your respect and I don't see why he has to do that again. We both know _why_ you’re kicking him off the first string. If you're benching him, you'll have to bench me too."

His voice is laced with venomous confidence, something he had never quite displayed before. The other players in the gym are looking at him now, both curious and surprised at his energy and tone. His friends had always joked around saying that he was what they called a true alpha. Iwaizumi didn't get it at first, thinking it's a myth, thinking it only exists in movies, but now he feels it - his blood boiling within his veins, all-encompassing rage streaming from his gut to this throat, emancipating a voice so compelling even an alpha might submit to him.

But he doesn’t let it show. Iwaizumi bottles up this anger and it's almost painful. The coach is still the coach. It’s not fair, he thinks. Coach Inoue isn’t fair at all. Oikawa had already compensated for his beta status long ago, so he doesn’t get why he should be demoted so simply. His skills would remain the same, his strength, his height, his confidence – it will _all_ be the same. He bites the insides of his cheeks, waiting for a reaction.

Coach Inoue stares at him wide-eyed, lips tightened into a straight line. He looks just as surprised as the other players in the gym.

But he submits - and everyone in the gym is shocked.

"Fine. But if Oikawa's _heats_ or whatever you call it, gets in the way of this team's performance, _you_ will be the one responsible, Iwaizumi.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi opens the door to his apartment, breathing a sigh of relief at the warmth of the room. He drops his bag on the elevated entrance and takes his shoes off before saying, “I’m home.” There’s no response – no Oikawa greeting him. And Iwaizumi can’t help but think it’s strange. Oikawa would always shout out a “welcome home” no matter which part of the house he’s in. Maybe he’s still feeling sick? Is he still asleep?

Slight concern washes over him, fast walking to the bedroom where he had left a very sick Oikawa. He sees no sign of the young man. Both of the beds are made, except one didn’t have bedsheets on. Iwaizumi blinks twice, then realizes Oikawa might be in the kitchen.

And he was. Iwaizumi sees their portable washing machine all set up, hooked to the kitchen sink. Oikawa stands next to it, one hand on his hip, the other pressed against the side of the loud whirring machine, supporting his body weight.

“Laundry day’s tomorrow.”

Oikawa yelps and jumps in surprise. He turns around to see Iwaizumi leaning on the doorway.

“You surprised me!” Oikawa cries out in his usual childish tone, hand on his chest, stomping his foot on the wooden floors. “I didn’t hear you come in at all!” He doesn't bother greeting him his cheery "welcome home" and just angrily turns back to the washing machine to watch the insides spin.

“That’s a first,” Iwaizumi says with a smirk, crossing his arms. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

Oikawa turns his head slightly for a quick glance. Iwaizumi instantly frowns, not wanting Oikawa to see his amused smile. “My fever’s gone,” he mutters. His shoulders are tense, Iwaizumi notices. “And everything else that went with it.”

Iwaizumi knows something’s up. He can smell the nervousness on him.

“So, what are you washing?”

Oikawa stiffens.

“Well…” Oikawa starts. He doesn’t look at Iwaizumi and keeps his gaze on the washing machine. “I may have soiled your sheets?” he says in uncertainty. He spins to face Iwaizumi. His embarrassed voice alters quickly into his usual cheeky tone. “I’m being a good friend here, Iwa-chan. I’m washing off my scent. As an alpha, it drives you crazy, doesn’t it?”

He feels his veins popping out in annoyance. “I’m _not_ like that, dumbass.”

Oikawa beams him a sincere smile.

“I know.”

The smile catches him off guard and he looks away again.

The washing machine stops and Oikawa goes ahead to drain the water, making sure the hose is hanging inside the sink. Iwaizumi closes his eyes in resignation and sighs loudly, because his sheets are still going to have traces of Oikawa's persistent scent regardless of how much detergent he’ll use.

“’Go to the clinic tomorrow,” Iwaizumi orders.

“Why?”

“Because,” he starts, pulling his hoodie above his head, tossing it to the laundry basket. “Your heat was supposed to end two days ago.”

Oikawa shrugs his shoulders. “Juri-san did say it might last for more than five days.”

“No, yours was definitely not normal. Suga told me—”

“You told Refreshing-kun about me?”

And also the coach, but Iwaizumi won’t say that. Coach Inoue promised he won’t mention anything to Oikawa for the time being. The taller of the two looks worried, ashamed, his lips pursed in shame. Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck absently. “I—yeah, I… didn’t know what to do when you were practically _dying_ of dehydration this morning,” Iwaizumi defends himself and Sugawara. “He won’t tell anyone. You know that.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes and pouts, crossing his arms. He sits on the edge of the washing machine. “Hm. Can't argue with that.”

“Heats are supposed to last for consecutive days,” Iwaizumi repeats what Sugawara had told him earlier, going back to the topic before Oikawa could cleverly change it. “Yours stopped. Then came back. That’s not supposed to—”

“Ugh, fine, fine! I’ll go!” Oikawa groans loudly in surrender. Iwaizumi knows how much he hates talking about his heat, so he's amused at how he exerts effort in evading the subject. “Honestly, it’s like living with my mom!”

Iwaizumi smacks him in the head.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa finds out a lot about Juri-san.

He visits her a few days later, after Hajime kept bugging him to go see a doctor. But Oikawa isn’t the biggest fan of hospitals and medical exams and doctors in general, so before he hops onto a bus to ride to the nearest hospital, he opts to walk to the university instead – to the large sports complex that was recently built to replace the outdoor multipurpose courts. He jogs over to the second floor.

The nurse is tending to an injured student who seemed to have badly scraped his elbow during a basketball match. Oikawa waits for her to finish, sitting on the other side of the room between a water dispenser and a bulletin board made entirely for health posters – how to properly wash hands, facts about conjunctivitis, stretches before playing sports, an infograph about influenza and the like. What struck Oikawa the most, however, is the one with big red _Understanding Violence Faced by Omegas_ as a header. He scowls at it, thinking how fucked up society is if people still needed to be reminded _not_ to hurt other people, and that it’s their business if they ever witnessed such a horrible thing. It’s the 21 st century, just as Iwa-chan had said, but Oikawa feels like nothing has changed for the past few decades.

“Oikawa-san, nice to see you again,” she says, breaking the silence that made Oikawa jump a bit. “How are you holding up?”

“Nurse Juri-san!” He greets back with a slight melody and two times the energy.

He doesn’t tell her about his strange heat cycle right away. But he did learn that she took up Pharmaceutical Sciences in the same university, and her husband is the coach of the university’s swim team, and that she has a three-year-old son and a daughter in first grade. Oikawa made sure to point out that she’s very young-looking, as Juri-san is simply a short, worldly woman of thirty-three, with a bob of black hair and eyebrows that appeared to be tinted in the wrong shade of brown. The efforts of nature made sure she exhibited a motherly aura, and the reason why Oikawa found her so comfortable to talk with is because he had just learned that she’s an omega.

Then he throws in a question.

“I’m not the expert you should be talking to, Oikawa-san,” she says, although she seems willing enough to answer any of Oikawa’s doubts, being an omega herself and a medical practitioner.

“I know, but…” Oikawa trails off, looking down on his hands. He hardly ever shows his fragility to anyone. Somehow, Juri-san is able to bring it out of him without doing anything in particular. “Sorry. I’m still kinda freaked out about all of this, and I have no idea who to ask.”

Then Juri-san smiles at him, the nurturing kind, and it made Oikawa's worries fade for a while.

The internet has always been an option, but when he tried feeding his curiosity, the first thing that came up was a type of ovarian cancer only omegas can have. Oikawa closed his laptop shut abruptly after reading the search results and the images that came up with it. Even though Oikawa likes to believe that there are other lifeforms in space, he isn’t too keen on believing everything he sees in the internet.

“You said your heat was over, and then came back days later?” she repeats, rubbing her chin, eyes up in wonder. Oikawa nods nervously. “Those two days in between should be the quiescent period already. It's the time when you no longer feel the need to copulate. If your heat came back after that, you just might have an irregular estrous cycle, Oikawa-san.” She rolls her chair closer to the drawers, looking for something as she continues. “It’s not uncommon, and it’s not something to worry about, but I do know it’s more likely for omegas who presented very late.”

“So, _wait,_ does this mean my heats will just come in outta nowhere?” he asks in disbelief, eyes wide in distress. He drags his hands on his face. “This cannot get any worse than it already is.”

“It will be _irregular._ It might be normal at times or it might not,” she assures him, patting his shoulder to calm him down. “I suggest tracking your heats carefully with a lunar calendar, and also…” She hands him a bottle of pills. “These are suppressants, Oikawa-san. This one’s on the house.” Oikawa takes them, eyeing them displeasingly. “Carry these with you at all times. You can take them two or three days before your supposed week, but remember to take only _one_ pill in the morning and _one_ in the evening, okay? You should know that these things aren’t very good for your body.”

His hands are shaking when he removes the cap and sees several blue pills inside.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Autumn slaps him in the face hard as soon as he leaves the apartment. The air spares him no mercy as he feels his face redden at the chill that had passed by. With that, Oikawa quickly goes back in and searches for a thicker coat, because the one he wore didn’t quite warm him enough.

It’s the middle of October, and the second month of the fall semester.

There are two things he had learned from college so far: First, early morning classes are the worst, and the faculty intentionally made sure that the first classes are courses with the most number of credits, so students have no choice but to attend unless they are idiots. Oikawa is sure that half of the class would be missing if their English for Bioscience is scheduled as their first period. The second thing he learned was – how oddly easy it is to actually sneak out in the middle of class.

Oikawa isn’t exactly the kind of student to do such a thing, but he considers right now as an emergency.

Because suddenly it’s not so cold, and his thick jacket feels like a snake constricting him, ready to swallow him whole.

“ _Shit,_ not now, _”_ he utters, voice strained, jaw tightened. Great, now he’s going to miss the lecture – and probably the next class after that too. He lets out a loud frustrated sigh.

He's about to go to the bathroom but stops immediately.

He stops because he knows from experience that  _bathrooms are fucking dangerous,_ he stops because the contractions in his midsection is starting and the pressure between his legs aggravates with every step because the feel of the fabric steers his mind into a slow daze. The hallway is empty, because classes are still ongoing and it’ll be a while before it ends. That’s one fortunate thing in Oikawa’s unfortunate day.

He sprints to the chemistry laboratory on the end of the corridor. No one uses that lab. It’s old and is rarely given any attention. As he ran, Oikawa tries to find the bottle of suppressants Juri-san had given him, his trembling hands rummaging through his backpack of books and pens and papers. He feels the familiar plastic material, grabs it, and is about to open it – then he bumps into someone who was just as fast-paced as him, causing him to stagger backwards – and his pills to drop on the floor.

Fucking great.

“Watch where you’re going!” the one he had collided with had the audacity to yell out.

Oikawa bites his bottom lip and is about to apologize until the scent basically causes his body to freeze.

“Hey, aren’t you Oikawa? From the volleyball team?”

Oikawa’s eyes widen. He's not sure whether to be flattered or worried that this person knew him. He doesn’t look up but he’s aware that the guy is taller, which is unusual. Oikawa considers himself pretty tall, but this guy is just really fucking huge and Oikawa doesn’t want any business with him.

And to make matters worse, he’s an _alpha_ – his smell nothing but horrible and daunting. Oikawa picks up the fallen blue pills on the floor with haste and panic, and that’s when his vision begins to falter. He balls his fists, almost crushing the suppressants he picked up with it. The corridor is spinning and he feels his lungs is unable to give him enough air.

“U-Ugh..!” He falls, groaning even harder when he accidentally puts his entire weight on his bad knee. There’s a hand that presses against his shoulder, and a voice asking him if he’s okay. His breath hitches.

Maybe this alpha is a good guy. Maybe he’s like Hajime.

Oikawa prays to god he’s like Iwaizumi.

“Oh fuck, are you… are you in heat or something?” Oikawa hears him say. The man sounded almost scared, like he had no idea what to do.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he wonders what went wrong. He wasn't supposed to be in heat until next week. And while he knew his cycle would fuck up sooner or later, he didn't expect it to come rushing in this early. Oikawa clutches the fabric of his coat, desperately trying to reach the skin of his abdomen as writhes on the ground, his belongings sprawled all over.

In one strong motion, he is forcefully hoisted up and Oikawa’s eyes went big at the rough gesture. The alpha grabs the neck of his coat and heaves him up so he could stand and stagger. That’s when Oikawa knew he’s _not_ like Hajime. With a mighty grip still on his collar, Oikawa is effortlessly shoved inside the old chemistry laboratory. His hazy eyes snaps open when he feels teeth scraping the side of his neck and his back pushed against a cold hard wall. _No, no, no, no,_ he cries inside his head because he can’t see anything and he can’t hear anything other than his heart pounding dangerously too fast.

“Fuck…!” Oikawa curses between raspy breaths, his arms fighting to push the man away. Scary hands grip his hips and grazed over all over his coat, as if he’s trying to rip it apart. “F-Fuck off!” he shouts, voice deep and angry. He grabs the man's jaws, pushing him away to the best of his ability. He’s not weak like what the books tell him – not submissive like everyone says he should be. Oikawa proves this point and knees him hard in the groin, earning a loud painful yelp from the alpha. The man reels back at the intense pain, and Oikawa jabs him straight on the cheek.

Oikawa must’ve made a mistake.

Because the man ran away. He ran away from an _omega_. Oikawa stares at disbelief, shaking his hand, knuckles aching. The moment Oikawa displayed aggression, the man backed off, called him a “fuckin’ bastard”, threatening him while he ironically runs to the door, holding his injured groin. It was quite a sight. Oikawa expected he would fight back, would react more... violently. But even so, Oikawa is more than relieved at the situation, sighing several times, letting himself slide down the wall. Luck's on his side today it seems. He massages his knuckles and looks at them. His punch isn't as strong, but he could feel the joints of his fingers swell.

He opens his other fist that turned almost white and sees little blue tablets. He pops in one suppressant into his mouth, and when he thinks it isn’t enough, he pops in another, swallowing them dry. It gets stuck in the middle of his throat, and he had to gulp down several times, desperately shoving the pills down with his saliva to they could get rid of this fucking heat already.

“I can’t believe this,” Oikawa groans quietly to himself, nauseated from the smell of the alpha’s rut that had clung to his skin and clothes. He wants to throw up. He wants to vomit his entire stomach out. Pressing his limbs closer to each other, Oikawa gets his phone from his coat pockets. His brain tells him to dial Hajime’s number.

Hajime answers almost instantly.

“Hello? Oikawa?” He’s so relieved to hear his voice, but it sounds like he’s whispering. “What the hell? I’m in the middle of cla—”

“Iwa…” Oikawa manages to murmur, every word he says makes it harder for him to breathe. The other line is quiet now that Oikawa's breathing heavily over the other line. “Iwa-chan… I’m sorry. I’m in the, uh, chemistry lab. The one on the—on the fourth floor. I’m in... I’m in—”

He drops his phone when a throbbing pain bounces right off through every integral part of his body, his hands clutching his midsection as though his organs are going to fall out if he doesn't hold it in. His throat dries quickly, his entire body producing sweat and every other liquid it can produce. Oikawa’s pale, lanky fingers dig into his own skin. Something tight and warm was blossoming inside his stomach and the arousal is starting to writhe farther down. He pops another suppressant even though he wasn’t supposed to – even though he knew it wouldn’t take effect instantly, but this is supposed to his second heat, and it feels even more painful than the first one. It’s like his limbs are being squeezed forcefully onto a small box, Oikawa scratching his skin as he tried to stifle the sounds of pain and mind-numbing arousal that made every muscle contract.

Oikawa whimpers at the medley of several different senses all at once, then suddenly his breath steadies and somehow he’s more aware of his surroundings – then he realizes why.  Hajime is panting by the doorway, looking like he had ran down the stairs from the 7th floor and didn’t bother to use the elevator in haste. Oikawa is quickly encircled by strong arms, the touch making him feel immediately at ease. The scent however, went from tantalizing to completely enraged, negatively affecting Oikawa’s own natural energy.

Because Iwaizumi smells another alpha, mingling together with Oikawa’s scent.

“Who is it?” he asks in a frightening voice. “Tell me.”

Oikawa lets his head fall against Hajime's shoulders. He shakes his head weakly, eyes closed. “I don’t know.” He hears grinding teeth and angry, growling curses. “He ran away after I…”

Iwaizumi sees the slight redness of his knuckles. He tries to calm himself, keeping his energy low and thin. Oikawa seemed to have driven the asshole away. He could tell from the smell alone that nothing bad happened to him. He breathes out heavily in relief. “Did you take suppressants?”

“Just now.”

He licks his lips and his eyes wander left to right, thinking what he should do, thinking what Oikawa should do. Well, he knows _exactly_ how to make Oikawa feel better, but he’s not in the right position to do anything. Oikawa should do it himself and he knows that. He had done it before.

“I’ll be right outside,” Iwaizumi tells him knowingly. “I’ll guard the door.”

Iwaizumi hesitates to stand up, and Oikawa groans at the sudden loss of his comfort.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Slapping both hands to his face, Iwaizumi shakes his head hard, and frowns angrily at the rising heat on his cheeks. He tries to shake off the odd, aching feeling down south. Oikawa is inside that room, pleasuring himself, sweating and moaning and crying, or doing god knows _what_. His pale skin is probably glowing with a pinker shade, and his perfect hair all messy and saturated with sweat. Iwaizumi slaps his face again. Several times. But he can still hear him, and he can still  _smell_ him, even if he’s on the other side of that thick door. Iwaizumi, growing more and more frustrated, roughly rubs his face with his hands for the last time.

This is getting weird.

Different levels of weird.

He narrows his darkening eyes at the ground, attempting to forget how he can imagine Oikawa relieving himself in bizarrely perfect clarity and somehow the thought makes his heart race and his face numb. Iwaizumi takes a couple of deep breaths and lets his shoulders relax, even though he can feel his own body temperature rise. He’d never thought he’d sport a bulge in his trousers in an empty school hallway, but there he was, exactly just that. Iwaizumi offsets his impending rut by vigorously pacing back and forth to recompense for his hormones going wild – a desperate attempt to iron out his myriad of physical and emotional impulses ranging from anger to excitement to shame.

“I-Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t waste a second and bursts open the door – which was a _terrible_ mistake on his part as he gets hit by a dizzying explosion of nothing but _Oikawa_.

“Oikawa, are you…” Iwaizumi stops, swallowing, coaching his voice into a calmer tone. He coughs his discomfort away. “How are you feeling?”

Oikawa is still breathing hard, sitting on the ground, knees bent, legs splayed out to the side. It’s how he sits ever since he was a kid, Iwaizumi remembers. He walks to him.

“Better,” Oikawa says, laughing under heavy breaths and self-pity. “Is this how I’m going to be for the next thirty fucking years?” Tears involuntarily falls from his eyes – a physiological reaction to his frustration, pity, anger, and everything else in between. Oikawa isn’t sure why he’s crying anymore, simply feeling like a pile of shit is enough of a reason. Feeling weak and useless, he angrily wipes his tears away before Iwaizumi could.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says, kneeling down in front of Oikawa. He ruffles his hair gently. Oikawa looks up, and sees a small, reassuring smile. “You’re gonna get used to it soon.” He then starts taking off his own parka. Oikawa sniffs and looks at him suspiciously. “Now take off your clothes.”

“I thought you’re not _that_ kind of alpha, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa manages to slip in a cheeky joke between the sniffles and tears as Iwaizumi only glares at him. But nonetheless, he takes off his coat soaked with his fragrance, as well as that other alpha’s horrible smell. The air seems colder now that his heat has moderated, and his jacket gone. Oikawa shivers through his thin undershirt.

“Wear this,” Iwaizumi offers his dark blue parka and the sweatshirt he had been wearing. “It’ll mask your scent.”

Oikawa bobs his head once and exchanges clothes with Iwaizumi, slowly putting on the other man's clothes. He and Hajime had always been close in size, but lately he thinks Hajime is growing bigger, although not exactly taller. Oikawa chuckles inwardly, maybe pressing Hajime's pressure points to stop him from growing really did work.

“Aren’t you cold, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks, his eyebrows creasing worriedly, heavy-lidded eyes sparkling in concern. Hajime is only wearing a thin t-shirt now. It has the large characters for “courage” printed on it. Typical Iwa-chan fashion.

“It’s fine,” he replies firmly and doesn’t explain further, simply because he doesn’t mind. “That alpha. Do you remember his face?” he asks to change the subject, serious. He takes Oikawa’s jacket.

Oikawa only looks down, face scrunched in guilt and anger. He should’ve remembered, but he doesn’t, and he hates it.

“I don’t.”

Iwaizumi goes ahead and breathes in the odor lingering in Oikawa’s jacket. The alpha’s scent is distinct and awful, and it trickles through Iwaizumi’s senses undesirably. He memorizes it – every chemical, every compound. He makes sure he’ll recognize it if the alpha ever crosses his path. And Iwaizumi would make sure to beat the hell out of him too.

“You wanna go home?”

His eyes avert in conflict. It’s barely after twelve noon and he has Physics for his next period. Even though there’s nothing more Oikawa would rather do than to sleep on his soft bed, he simply can’t afford to miss that class. Besides, with the amount of suppressants he just splurged himself with, he doubts this stupid heat of his would come knocking again.

He’s also wearing Hajime’s huge parka – which smells absolutely delightful for some reason Oikawa is still trying to figure out.

“No, I – I can manage,” Oikawa stutters, pulling up a small smile. “I think the suppressants are working now.”

Iwaizumi sighs in relief. “Good.” He goes ahead and chucks Oikawa’s jacket into his own backpack. “Not a good idea for you to carry this around.”

Oikawa finds that he can stand up. And that he’s starting to feel normal. He stares at his palms, opening and closing them, checking if the numbness and sweating is gone.

Suppressants are like fucking _magic_.

Oikawa’s amazement is interrupted when Iwaizumi hurls his bag to him. “Saw it in the hallway.” The taller boy then checks if his things and pills are still there.

The first one to come out of the lab is Iwaizumi, making sure the coast is clear. He peeks his head out from the doorway. Classes are still ongoing, so Iwaizumi doubts there’ll be anyone wandering the halls. He motions for Oikawa to come out as well, and he can’t help but feel like they did something wrong to be snooping around like this.

“One more thing,” Iwaizumi says and, without any delay, grabs the back of Oikawa’s head and pulls him down slightly. He nuzzles his neck, making sure his spiky hair, his face, touches Oikawa’s skin – making sure Oikawa would _smell_ like _him_. And Oikawa is too shocked to say anything, too shocked to retort, to ask what he’s doing, because frankly, it felt unquestionably and utterly _nice_.

His face flushes entirely when he feels lips chafing against his skin.

“I-Iwa-chan…?”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks when he pulls away, annoyed when he sees a moon-eyed Oikawa staring at him like he had done something indecent. “I just scented you, idiot,” he adds, raising one brow, speaking like it’s a normal thing to stimulate your friend’s scent glands. Yep, perfectly normal. “No one will dare to bother you like that now.”

"I-I didn’t know,” Oikawa stutters, avoiding eye contact. His skin feels somehow sensitive after that. He reminds himself to ask Juri-san about it later. “Still new to this, remember? I’ve no idea we’re _literally_ dogs now.”

Iwaizumi squints his eyes at him, pouting that pout of his, the one he makes when he’s displeased. Oikawa purses his lips to stop a wide smile.

“Call me if something comes up again, got it?”

Oikawa resists the urge to pull him into a hug. He nods twice.

“Okay.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

On the second day of his October heat, Oikawa stayed at home, complaining about an extreme migraine that didn’t go away since yesterday. He wasn’t very willing to skip school, and Iwaizumi had to force him to stay despite the usual ‘I don’t want to miss practice!’ and ‘I have a quiz today you know!’. But no, he won’t fall for that. Iwaizumi went as far as to text one of Oikawa’s classmate who had the same schedule, asking if there’s anything important happening that day. There’s none, and Iwaizumi literally locks Oikawa inside their apartment so he can rest.

Volleyball practice felt long and tedious, and Iwaizumi finds it rather boring that day.

Iwaizumi is drinking from his water bottle when spots a head of silver walking to him in the corner of his eye.

“How’s Oikawa?” Sugawara asks sincerely. “He seemed fine yesterday.”

Iwaizumi wonders how he could be so nice about all of this. He gets to play more whenever Oikawa isn’t around, so he wonders why he keeps wanting for Oikawa to come back to practice. They've been getting close, and they did like training together. He swallows the last remaining liquid in the bottle before realizing how he’s probably just too used to Oikawa’s bad personality, so now everyone who’s genuinely nice seems suspicious to him.

“He’s taking suppressants,” he says, wiping the sweat on his forehead with a towel. “He gets headaches from it apparently.”

Sugawara is the only one they could talk to, and mainly the only one Oikawa can complain to, because he’s only one who knows. He knew about his presenting, knew about his weird, irregular cycles, knew how Iwaizumi kept his control every time. Except the latter part is wrong, and it’s only Oikawa who thinks that.

Oikawa seems to have forgotten that Iwaizumi is an alpha. He’s careless to the point where Oikawa no longer gives a fuck that he’s leaving copious amounts of his scent, trailing from their shared room to the bathroom, to the kitchen where he _tries_ to cook, up until the living room where he usually stays and watch television all night. It’s driving Iwaizumi wild, and Oikawa has no intention of stopping. It’s partly Iwaizumi’s fault, and he knows that. He can’t bring himself to admit that Oikawa has been provoking his ruts – because it’s _Oikawa,_ and the thought of that is just too disconcerting.

“Headaches?” Sugawara repeats, his brow raising slightly like the headaches are something weird. It snaps Iwaizumi out of his thoughts.

Iwaizumi nods, fumbling for words. “Yeah, he’s in… this is his… _week_.” He rolls his eyes and groans. “Shit, sorry, that idiot doesn’t like talking about his heat. He hates that word.”

“I kind of expected that.” Sugawara chuckles, sitting on the bleachers next to Iwaizumi’s gym bag. “But it’s really surprising. Oikawa seems more like an alpha, don’t you think?”

Iwaizumi stares at him. A lot of people tells him that. “Yeah, I thought he’d be one too.” He sighs as he reminisces. No, he lied. He didn’t think Oikawa would present as an alpha. If people knew him like he knew Oikawa, they would think so too. He used to be a crybaby, whined a lot, complained at every chance – which made Iwaizumi realize that’s he’s pretty much the same, except he’s a lot more condescending than ever before. “Well, he _is_ arrogant and has a shitty personality. Two main ingredients of an alpha.”

“You speak like you’re not an alpha yourself,” Sugawara says, looking up with a smile. He drinks from his own bottle and Iwaizumi stays quiet, remembering the last two alphas Oikawa regrettably encountered. “But you really are different, Iwaizumi.”

Iwaizumi raises a questioning brow.

“Oikawa keeps telling me how his _Iwa-chan_ is different.” Iwaizumi cringes at the nickname. It’s weird when other people say it, and Sugawara seems to be very aware of that. “How you’re not like the other mindless alphas he keeps bumping into.”

They hear a whistle soon after, and the assistant coach shouting for everyone to go home and get a good night’s rest. Sugawara stands up immediately and grabs his phone, his eyes lighting up when he receives a text.

“Oh, I forgot I’m meeting Daichi and the others today,” Iwaizumi hears Sugawara mutter to himself. He think it’s great that Sugawara still meets with his former teammates. It makes Iwaizumi sort of jealous. The last time they had a reunion with his former high school friends was over eight months ago. It wasn’t as easy as they thought it would be though – conflicting schedules, apartments that are too far away from the meeting place, exams that are far too difficult to not study for… Those were just some of the things that went in the way. Iwaizumi wonders how Sugawara does it. They weren’t always complete, and he notices it’s only Sawamura who’s available most of the time, but it seems like they meet up for dinner at least once a week despite going to different universities.

The young beta spins and throws him a smile before waving, his phone still lit up in his hands. “I’m off now. See you tomorrow! And say hi to Oikawa for me!”

“Ah,” he murmurs, then waves back. “See ya.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t notice that he had been lingering too long until everyone had bid their goodbyes and went home. It’s always Oikawa who is the last one to leave, the last one to hit a ball – and Iwaizumi is the only one who waits.

When he goes out, he hears boisterous laughing and several people babbling. It’s probably the basketball team who had just finished their practice in the gym next to theirs.

Gray-green eyes widens seemingly into red when he catches the distinct scent of an alpha.

His head snaps towards the group of men, alpha and beta, walking out of the second gym, one of them holding a basketball. It’s him – the scent of the alpha that vexingly clung onto Oikawa’s coat. By instinct, Iwaizumi goes and marches towards the alpha, teeth grinding and eyes red.

He grabs the alpha by the neck of his jersey, recognizing him when he sees his face, a bruise forming on his right cheekbone. He is taller – even taller than Oikawa – but Iwaizumi didn’t even notice when he throws him face down on the floor with raw strength.

“Whoa, hold on, man,” one of the beta men circling them says, trying to calm down Iwaizumi – who, at this time, smelled like absolute rage. Even some of the alphas in the group are wary of him. Iwaizumi ignores the others, anger contorting the lines on his brow. He stoops down and viciously grabs the alpha by the collar, punching him right where Oikawa had hit him before, hitting him where he knows it would hurt the most. Iwaizumi bears no pity, both fists slamming against the man's swelling face. The alpha on the ground covers his face with his arms, shielding himself from Iwaizumi.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you fucking psycho?!”

His eyes sharpens, pupils dilating. His grip clenches and he forms another tight fist. “What the fuck is wrong with _me?_ You’re the one who’s fucked up in the head!” he shouts through gritted teeth, nose crinkling like a tidal wave of fury.

The alpha beneath him whimpers when Iwaizumi raises another fist, not even putting in an effort to pretend that he’s not scared shitless by being caged in by the heavy mass of angry alpha hormones that is Iwaizumi Hajime.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” the alpha shouts back desperately.

Iwaizumi growls, almost  _roars,_ at him - the sound shredding the air and even Iwaizumi is surprised at his own voice. He inches his face closer so only the alpha can hear, fangs baring. “I don’t go around attacking omegas in fucking school!” Iwaizumi can tell that the alpha remembers as soon as those scared eyes went big in shock. He closes a hand around the alpha’s throat, squeezing his neck tightly so he can’t breathe properly, pinning him to the ground like it’s nothing. 

“Stay the fuck away from Oikawa.”

The alpha nods and nods until Iwaizumi lets himself be dragged up by the crowd.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi goes home angry, but strangely satisfied.

He’s taking off his shoes when Oikawa comes out of the bedroom – hair disheveled, sweatpants dangling loosely on his hips exposing his midriff.

Oikawa’s already flustered face reddened when his eyes met with Iwaizumi’s wide ones. “O-Oh, Iwa-chan, I didn’t know you’re – welcome home,” he stumbles for words, his hands awkwardly running through his hair and rubbing his nose.

Iwaizumi can't find words to say, unreasonably caught up with the scene. Because the air is suddenly different, something heavy – musky and sweet - dancing all around. And it’s fucking _strong_. The pleasure-laden scent wafts freely in the air, lingering in his nostrils and quickening his heartbeat, making blood rush through all sorts of places. Iwaizumi’s surprised expression had faded, replaced with something more predatory, but he shoves the omega away and runs to the bathroom before Oikawa could see.

“How rude! Not even an “I’m home”? Did you really need to shit that badly?”

By the time Iwaizumi manages to lock the door, he’s already half-hard and his thighs are shaking. This feels strangely like his awkward pre-pubescent high school ruts and he hates it. How many times is he going to have to enter surprise ruts before Oikawa realizes his scent drives him wild?

“Fucking ridiculous,” Iwaizumi curses between short, shallow breaths. He looks down on his leaking erection and sighs audibly in frustration. His fingers curved around himself, stroking down the length slowly, before realizing that the actually prefers it fast and hard. He feels dizzy, his mind going into that familiar haze as he couldn’t help the noises coming out of his mouth.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa suddenly calls, knocking on the door several times. Iwaizumi bites his lip to stifle the sounds he was making, but his hands couldn’t stop. “Did you have dinner already?”

“I— _fuck_ —I haven’t… ngh, I haven’t _yet_.”

The six seconds of silence made Iwaizumi anxious. Did Oikawa find out?

“Oh, okay. I’ll order pizza! Good luck on your huge dump!”

He came right after his roommate’s footsteps died down. He refused to acknowledge that he had just imagined pushing into a heat-dazed Oikawa, and that he had just wondered if fucking an omega would feel better than his hand. No. He never imagined that. He imagined fucking a generic, faceless omega _._ Except that omega called him ‘Iwa-chan’ and somehow that made him shiver and come profusely. _It’s just the scent, it’s natural, it’s fine —_ he keeps telling himself. He closes his eyes tight thinking it would help, but he keeps seeing Oikawa’s face, keeps inhaling his scent and keeps imagining his rosy skin—

“Ah, fuck!” he yells out, desperately trying to shake the thoughts away. He shakes his head viciously.

Fuck this rut. Fuck nature.

Iwaizumi couldn’t count the number of times he came in the bathroom because of frequent ruts, spilling all over his hands and on the bathroom tiles. He mutters a good number of fuck’s and shit’s before washing his hands angrily and turning on the shower to clean the mess on the floor.

It’s ridiculous. _Oikawa is ridiculous_. An omega in their right mind would take precautions and wouldn’t let their scent drift through the air for everyone to notice. Oikawa is the complete opposite. He doesn’t fucking care. He doesn’t care that he’s living with a male alpha in his twenties and that his _scent_ is literally sticking to every wall, every curtain, every furniture, every corner in the fucking apartment and that it’s propelling Iwaizumi into an irrational haze of insanity and will continue to do so if Oikawa keeps up this stupid act. Oikawa’s brand new scent doesn’t do well with Iwaizumi – both mentally and physically. As much as he hated to admit it, Oikawa’s scent flipped a switch in him and had earned him several surprise boners in the morning (and evening).

But Iwaizumi can’t just _tell_ him to stop pasting his scent everywhere because first of all – Oikawa can’t help it. He’s been an omega for only two months and Iwaizumi doubts Oikawa would take the heat suppressants faithfully; and secondly – telling Oikawa about his rut-inducing scent would mean that it _did_ affect his alpha instincts somehow and that’s the last thing he wants Oikawa to know.

He doesn’t want Oikawa to be afraid of _him_ of all people.

Guiltily, he cleans himself up with toilet paper, flushing the evidence before torturing himself with ice cold water from the sink. Feeling like the sink isn’t enough to hide his shame, Iwaizumi grabs the detachable shower head and rains his entire head with the coldest water setting possible. Then he looks at his face on the mirror until the embarrassment comes rising up to his cheeks again. He hastily grabs the can of coconut-scented deodorizer from the cupboards and sprayed it everywhere until his alpha pheromones are all _dead_.

When Iwaizumi comes out feeling better, he grabs a towel and roughly dries his head of spiky hair.

“Oikawa?” he calls out hesitantly, walking over to where the sounds of the television is coming from.

The living room looks like the inside of a washing machine. Oikawa had created some sort of fort on the floor, using pillows and bedsheets – _Iwaizumi’s bedsheets_ – and probably 99% of Iwaizumi’s clothes. He recognizes a shirt he was supposed to wash still, twirled in with a hoodie he remembers washing a week before. He realizes his clean and dirty clothes got all mixed up together in Oikawa’s makeshift bird’s nest. He sees the culprit on the carpeted floors, nestled against the base of the couch, covered in a thick white comforter – _Iwaizumi’s comforter_ – like a cocoon. He’s watching the War of the Worlds movie, and from the looks of it, it’s the old one. Iwaizumi could tell with the bad sound quality and awful special effects.

“Shittykawa, what the hell is _this_?”

Oikawa didn’t look at him, eyes locked on their television screen. He looks disappointed. “Pizza Hut delivery isn’t available today,” he says, frowning, not entirely answering Iwaizumi’s question.

It takes less than a minute for Iwaizumi to realize what this whole thing is. _This is what nesting looks like?_ Iwaizumi had heard worse. He had heard of omegas nesting in closets and kitchen cupboards and underneath dining tables – not like Oikawa could fit into those small spaces anyway, but at least he just nested by the their LED television. He expected that much. It’s his favorite place after all.

The underlying problem though is that his clothes are all dirty now.

And Oikawa doesn’t give a shit.

“Guess you’ll just have to cook, Iwa-chan,” he says, as if it’s the biggest issue right now – as if Iwaizumi’s closet and bed haven’t been thoroughly foraged.

 _This is good,_ Iwaizumi thinks. _It’s fine._

Oikawa’s fragrance is faint. It’s never been this faint during his heat. He could barely smell it as it blended with his own scent. He’s on the edge of his heat and Iwaizumi isn’t going crazy about it.

Iwaizumi only sighs in relief, too tired – too ashamed to do anything. He sits on the couch.

“Why don’t you cook for once?” he says, playfully kicking Oikawa’s cocoon-like figure squirming on the floor.

Oikawa laughs. “Me? Cook? You’re the one who banned me from entering the kitchen.”

He glares at Oikawa. “I’m tired of cooking _all_ the time.”

“I make some decent meals _occasionally_. Remember that time I cooked karaage?”

“You mean the karaage that you burned?”

“I didn’t – it wasn’t burned!” Oikawa sits up in protest and yells at Iwaizumi, blankets wrapped around his entire body, like a caterpillar struggling to stand. “It was _toasted_. And you ate it anyway!”

Iwaizumi’s gaze is on him, unfaltering. He keeps his eyes on Oikawa.

“Yeah. I still did.”

There’s something inside of his aching stomach that fluttered. Oikawa twirls back towards the television. “You hated it. You should’ve told me in the first place,” Oikawa says, and even though Iwaizumi can’t see his face, he could tell he was pouting.

“I didn’t hate- _hate_ it.”

“You puked it out an hour later!”

“Why are we even—” Iwaizumi stops suddenly, not wanting to continue the conversation. He leans back. “It’s just – it’s not that hard.”

“Then _you_ cook.”

“How about I’ll teach you so you won’t have to goddamn starve yourself?”

Oikawa’s head spins, his bright brown eyes large. “Iwa-chan is gonna teach _me_ how to _cook_?” It’s unusual. Iwaizumi never really offered before, and Oikawa is more than happy.

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi mutters, staring at the stars in Oikawa’s eyes. It’s been a while since those stars appeared. “It’s so you don’t have to stick band-aids all over your fingers after spattering oil all over them.”

“That was only one time!” Oikawa insists.

Iwaizumi sneers at him because he remembers. It wasn’t only one time. It was maybe two or three, when Oikawa tried to deep-fry oreos because he saw it on a foreign reality TV show, and another time when Oikawa didn’t thaw the bacon long enough, and it was still wet when he threw it on the sizzling oiled up pan, causing the oil to jump everywhere, Oikawa’s hands being the worst victim.

It made Iwaizumi look down on his own hand. His knuckles are red, palms almost shaking. It's not very noticeable but he could feel it – that _shake_ that stemmed from a strong sense of dominance. He remembers punching that alpha’s ugly face several times, his mouth curving upward at every jab he recalls.

“Look,” Iwaizumi says suddenly, raising up his bruising knuckles. Oikawa walks to him using his knees, the blankets wrapped around his body making it hard to move. He leans closer to look, eyes widening in alarm. “It’s Endo Hisanobu. That asshole from yesterday.”

“Oh wow, Iwa-chan, what did you do?” he asks, more curious than concerned now.

“Taught him a lesson.”

Oikawa gives him a grateful smile, but his eyes are dark. The same eyes he sports during a match. “Good.” He raises his own hand, pale and long and unblemished as ever, and grazes it against the tan, discolored knobs of Iwaizumi’s hands. His voice is scarily low. “I wanted to do it myself but it seems Iwa-chan took care of it.”

But Iwaizumi disagrees. He doesn’t want Oikawa’s hand to hurt like his.

“Isn’t that jerk from the basketball team?” Oikawa asks, head tilting to the side.

“Yeah,” he breathes out. “He won’t be in the team anymore.”

“Iwa-chan, you’ve gotten a lot of people expelled lately.”

He hears Oikawa laugh, but Iwaizumi doesn’t think it’s funny.

“It’s ‘cause you’ve been attracting a lot of people lately.”

“I can’t help it,” he says haughtily but not entirely wrong. “I’m always attracting people.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes sharpens. “The _wrong_ kind of people.”

The sheets loosened around Oikawa’s head when he leans his elbows on the space next to Iwaizumi. He rests his head on his folded arms, head tilted up to let his narrowed brown eyes stare back at the other’s hazel eyes. He intertwines his fingers with Iwaizumi's.

“Good thing you’re not the _wrong_ kind then, huh?”

Iwaizumi whips his head away, not entirely innocent. _That’s not true._ Oikawa lets go of his hands a second later. 

“How’s your headache?” he asks to change the subject.

“Gone, thankfully.” Oikawa slides back down, this time to rest his side against Iwaizumi’s legs. “I didn’t take the pills today that’s why.”

 _That’s why your scent is all over the place._ He looks down on Oikawa’s messy brown hair, brushing against Iwaizumi’s knees. He stops the urge to run his fingers through it. It looks so soft. Several moments of not talking passes, the sharp, low-quality noises from the movie the only thing breaking the silence. Iwaizumi wonders why Oikawa can’t put his eyes away from the screen.

“You’ve watched that like a thousand times already.”

Oikawa sends him an offended look. “It’s the Special Collector’s Edition.”

“Well, you’ve watched the Special Collector’s Edition a hundred times already.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi is the one who arrives home first – which is rare, because his classes are longer and Oikawa’s are shorter. Usually, it takes less than a minute for Iwaizumi to find out if Oikawa’s not home. A spontaneous ‘welcome home’ should be heard in less than ten seconds, but now there’s only the whirring of the heating system which Oikawa forgot to turn off. Sometimes, Oikawa stays behind to practice more, but this time it’s different. He had to take extra classes to make up for his lost credits and recent absences. Oikawa will probably be back any minute now.

He walks to their room, dropping his bag on the floor. He sees DVDs of _Mars Attacks!_ and _Invasion of the Body Snatchers_ on Oikawa’s desk and wonders what exactly went wrong during his childhood.

It’s a little strange to be home without Oikawa. There’s this uneasiness tiptoeing behind his back with every quiet footstep, and Iwaizumi can’t help but to let it creep in. There are no voices coming out of the television, no newly cooked rice in the rice cooker, no constant Iwa-chan’s and whining. Iwaizumi goes on ahead and cooked rice himself, thinking how it’s been a while since he always lets Oikawa operate the rice cooker – mainly because that’s the _only_ thing he can properly operate in the kitchen. He prepares dinner in unfamiliar silence and turns on the television, mindlessly watching whatever’s on, not really caring what the channel was. Iwaizumi just needed to hear some noise. He misses the noise.

“I’m home!”

Iwaizumi almost dropped his bowl of rice and leftover gyudon from the fridge.

“Iwa- _chan_! I’m _home_!” Oikawa yells again, louder. He’s probably taking off his shoes now.

Okay, now he misses the silence.

The door closes loudly and Oikawa stomps to his direction, eyes narrowed, yelling out the same thing over and over again until he’s kneeling by Iwaizumi’s side. He looks straight into Iwaizumi’s surprised eyes – waiting. Iwaizumi creases his eyebrows in confusion.

It takes a few seconds. “W-Welcome home?”

There’s suddenly a smile on the other man’s face, then a husky, cheeky laugh, and Iwaizumi resists the urge to smack him in the head.

“Oi, what’s with that creepy smile?”

“Nothing!” Oikawa chimes happily, inching closer to Iwaizumi’s face. He playfully wraps his arms around his waist, prickling his neck with his hair, rubbing the bridge of his nose on his skin. “It’s not often I hear Iwa-chan’s ‘welcome home’.”

Iwaizumi freezes at the sudden affection, the indulgent traces of Oikawa’s skin and perfume electrifying him. He tries to push Oikawa away, but finds that he couldn’t. “Are you scent marking me?”

Oikawa raises his chin out of his repetitive kneading to stare at the other’s face. “You do it to me all the time,” he replies, his suggestive tone hinting that Iwaizumi should feel somewhat guilty.

“That’s—!” He finally shoves Oikawa away, causing the other to whine disappointedly. “You know damn well why I have to mark you!”

Of course Oikawa knows, and he’s grateful. He had always bore a special knack for getting into trouble after all. Iwaizumi does it because of that, but today, Oikawa had spent more hours than usual away from Iwaizumi, and his natural instinct was to bask in his presence – to transfer scents with him. Oikawa senses that Iwaizumi is growing irritated, so he just skips merrily to their room to change clothes.

“Ah!” Oikawa shouts all of a sudden just when the air is starting to quiet down. Iwaizumi hears him shuffling and trotting his heavy footsteps from the bedroom before rushing back next to him. “I almost forgot! There’s an Alien marathon tonight!” he shouts even louder, excitement heavy in his voice and evident in his starlit eyes. He’s now in his pajamas. “Can you believe it? All _four_ movies uninterrupted!” He holds up four fingers to Iwaizumi’s face.

Before Iwaizumi can roll his eyes and brace himself for another one of Oikawa’s marathons, the other boy jumped giddily on the couch, trying to steal the remote away. “Quick! Quick! Switch the channel to Movie Plus! No, not _that_ one, Iwa-chan! The HD channel! Channel 240! 240! I’m paying extra for that shit you know!”

Iwaizumi does what he says and sees a small countdown on the upper left corner of the screen. “Stupid, it doesn’t start for another hour.” He’s about to change channels again when Oikawa’s arms circles his neck – a little too suffocating for Iwaizumi’s tastes.

“Don’t change it. Let’s wait, please? Iwa-chan?” he pleads, the sparkle in his eyes a tad bit hard to refuse.

Iwaizumi sighs in surrender. “Fine.”

There's still a movie currently playing, and it's almost at its end. Iwaizumi knows, as he had watched it when it was still showing in the cinemas. It’s one of the few movies Iwaizumi had to force Oikawa to watch with him. It’s usually the other way around, so whenever Iwaizumi is interested to watch something, his spiel would always be ‘you keep dragging me to your shitty sci-fi movies, so now it’s your turn to watch my ridiculous action flicks’.

Oikawa quickly stands up from his space in the couch just as the American president from the movie is shot right in the chest.

 _The bullet had hit the president’s pocket watch instead_ , Iwaizumi says in his mind, trying to tell the characters on screen that the president is not, in fact, dead. Iwaizumi ends up being engrossed with the film and he doesn't notice where Oikawa had went. After a few minutes however, Oikawa comes back holding a pile of clothes which looks eerily like Iwaizumi’s laundry.

His eyes went big in horror.

“Shit, Oikawa, not again…!”

Oikawa ignores him and kicks his shins lightly so he’d lift them up from the floor. “Iwa-chan, move!” He then goes ahead and plops the clothes on the base of the couch.

“Hey!” Iwaizumi shouts when Oikawa walks back to the bedroom, probably to get another pile. As expected, he comes back with another batch, this time with pillows and an abundant amount of Iwaizumi’s sheets fresh off of his bed. “Damn it, you crazy little shit, get your own dirty laundry and blankets! You’re not even in heat anymore!”

Oikawa puffs his cheeks. “It doesn’t work that way, Iwa-chan.” The young man continues to prepare his nest. “Your scent is horribly too comforting.”

Hajime’s face goes red at the comment. He doesn’t know why and calms himself.

This is just Oikawa’s natural instinct.

It’s normal.

Perfectly normal.

“Don’t think so highly of yourself though. I didn’t include Iwa-chan’s underwear.”

Iwaizumi throws a pillow aimed at his head. Hard.

The marathon is about to start when Oikawa sits up from his already comfortable nest of Iwaizumi’s blankets.

“Iwa-chan.”

“What now, Oikawa?”

“We need beer.”

“We don’t have any beer left.”

“Go buy some in FamilyMart?”

Oikawa is answered by a pillow smothering him.

“Go buy your own!”

“But the movie might start soon!”

Iwaizumi drags his hands to his face and groans, irritated, and stands from his seat. Oikawa peeks from the pillow that smothered him earlier. He watches curiously as Iwaizumi disappears into the kitchenette and appears again with a half empty bottle of gin.

Oikawa stares at the bottle with disgust. “Ugh. Tanqueray? Don’t we have anything else?”

He places the green bottle in front of Oikawa. “No. Deal with this.”

“Stingy Iwa-chan. I wonder what you’ll be like if your future mate is pregnant and has cravings in the middle of the night.”

“Well, first of all, _you’re_ not pregnant. And secondly, why would I ever buy beer for a pregnant omega?”

“You never know! I sometimes crave for beer at one in the morning!”

“I’ll remember not to impregnate you, then.”

That joke hurts Oikawa more than he expected it to.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

By the end on the first film, Oikawa had grabbed a pillow – along with some of the articles of clothing from his nest, dropped it on Iwaizumi’s lap (without permission) and went ahead and took up most of the space on the couch, his head resting on the soft cushion on the other’s lap, curling as he tried to fit his long figure into the sofa.

When the lengthy opening sequence of the second movie started, Iwaizumi’s arm had come to absently rest on Oikawa’s side, his other arm propped on the sofa’s armrest, hand on his chin. Sometimes he went over to pinch Oikawa’s face, his cheeks, or his nose, when he talked too much, because Iwaizumi wanted to focus on the movie and Oikawa kept saying what was going to happen next and the Japanese subtitles kept disappearing too fast.

During a close-up scene of Ripley and Clemens on the third Alien movie, Oikawa had hit Iwaizumi’s nose with his head when he suddenly sat up, shouting, “Ah! That guy! Isn’t that guy from the Game of Thrones?!” Iwaizumi ignored him and only cared if his nose was bleeding, gritting his teeth at the sharp pain.

“What the hell is that?” he asked, but was only replied with an insulted look from Oikawa.

“It’s this cool series I’m watching in Star Channel, Iwa-chan! I let you watch a few episodes before!” He pointed at the screen again. “It’s _that_ guy! That’s the same actor! He looks so young! Why didn’t I notice this before?” Iwaizumi let him babble about this weird show he couldn’t remember watching.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."

It’s almost midnight now and they’re on the fourth Alien movie.

The pillow on Iwaizumi’s lap is now behind his neck, and he’s sitting at an angle where he and Oikawa can both fully stretch their limbs on the couch. Iwaizumi never had a problem with his self-control before. They’d slept beside each other several times, laid on the sofa in that same exact position a couple of times, but this time he feels his heartbeat in every inhale and exhale – which isn’t really good because Oikawa’s head is resting against his ribs, and he could probably hear his heart beating faster than usual. Iwaizumi puts his entire mind into calming himself down, because whenever he absentmindedly runs his calloused hands through his brown hair, a soft trace of his sweet scent drifts in the air.

“Acid blood, super strength...” Oikawa mutters, eyes fixed on the screen. “Imagine what my serves would be like with those powers! Oh, what do I have to do so I can be cloned with xenomorph DNA?”

“Graduate, pass the JAXA physical exam, and maybe get abducted by space pirates once you’re up there,” Iwaizumi says like it’s so simple and easy and it made Oikawa laugh. He remembers the scene where the main character’s clone was being asked if she remembers what happened to her original body. “You’ll lose your memories, though.”

“Maybe,” Oikawa says, smiling, his head moving with the rising and falling of Iwaizumi’s chest. “I’ll probably remember Iwa-chan if I try hard enough.” Iwaizumi doesn’t know how to reply to that. “And I’ll probably also gonna shit myself if I were cloned. I’ll never be as fucking amazing as Ripley.”

“Would you rather be attacked by a facehugger then?”

“As long as I get to be the queen’s host I’m fine with it.”

“Fucking disgusting.”

“But thinking about it, I’m not exactly a very decent host for the queen specimen.” Oikawa’s voice lowers, genuinely sad about the whole thing. “You’re more likely to be impregnated by the queen xenomorph, Iwa-chan.”

“Can we not talk about alien impregnation?”

Oikawa doesn’t stop though. “Because you’re an alpha. I think aliens would like you as a host more than me.”

“I’m more confused on why you’re sad about this.”

They watch the last movie in that position, Oikawa frequently inching back up to Iwaizumi’s chest whenever he slides off a bit. Iwaizumi could barely follow the story, because Oikawa kept talking and talking, pointing out various plot holes because he thinks “the fourth movie is the worst” yet he watches it every time he gets the chance and practically knows every fucking line in the movie.

The credits roll soon after, and Oikawa sits up, stretching his arms and craning his neck in circular motions.

“So, what’s your verdict? Favorite Alien movie?”

“The fourth one.”

Oikawa looks at him in disbelief, mouth open in absolute shock.

“And the worst?” he asks, wishing Iwaizumi would redeem himself and say it’s the third one.

“Second.”

“Are you kidding me?” Oikawa smacks him with a pillow. “That’s one of the best!”

Iwaizumi catches the pillow before Oikawa could land another hit. “They send highly skilled soldiers and all of them got killed. Ripley, the _child_ , and the only tolerable dude are the only ones who survived? Smells like bullshit.”

Oikawa crosses his arms, his expression indescribable. Iwaizumi thinks it’s funny.

“Iwa-chan, you have the most _awful_ tastes!”

Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa, taking a good, long, hard look at him, watching his lashes fall, his warm eyes blink tiredly at the rolling credits, and his lips pucker into an offended pout.

He doesn’t look away.

“I really do, don’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this actually started as a bunch of drabbles what happened haha  
> also this will be in three looooong parts  
> this is probably the most boring omegaverse you will ever read but whatever
> 
> EDIT: fixed some typos
> 
> holla at yo boy here: [twitter](https://twitter.com/dahliadenoire) or [tumblr](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/)


	2. Fools

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part II of III — [FOOLS by Troye Sivan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uxg222-hWWc)

It’s the middle of a rainy night when Iwaizumi is woken up by Oikawa.

“Can I sleep next to you?” he asks softly, quietly, as if there’s someone else in the room.

“Hm?” Iwaizumi breathes out, confused and half-asleep. He makes sure he’s not time-travelling twelve years back in time. He isn’t though, he realizes in a second. Because the Oikawa kneeling by the side of his bed is huge and grown up, the quick lightning that flashed illuminating his face and figure.

“It’s cold. Can I sleep with you?” the young omeg asks again.

“Okay.”

Oikawa is surprised by Hajime's overall reaction to this, sinking down happily on the space Hajime provides for him as he casually moves to the side. There’s no hesitation in both parties, and Oikawa can’t help but feel it’s somehow strange.

‘We’re too old for this' is what Hajime used to tell him. He would always be the one to say it – no more holding hands, Tooru, we’re adults now, no more hugs, no more childish pecks on the cheek, no more cute nicknames, no more crying, no more children’s names. Oikawa was the only one who didn’t want that kind of relationship to end. It was their _thing_. He started out calling him Hajime-chan, then just Hajime, downgrading to Iwaizumi right after he presented as an alpha. He wanted to be called that ever since, but Oikawa was not an easy wall to break. They're best friends. They shouldn't be so formal. And so, Oikawa started calling him Iwa-chan, and he simply never stopped. It’s still affectionate, but not head-turning affectionate. Iwaizumi hated it at first – _he hated everything at first –_ and he had hit Oikawa so many times before finally giving up and giving in, realizing that Oikawa would never stop no matter what he did.

It was the same for Iwaizumi. He called him Tooru from day one. Oikawa can even remember the first time he hears it rolling from his lips. They were at his mother’s garden, the one in the back of their home – the one with the beautiful sunlit roses and pink moss. Before his parents decided to renovate it, his home was simply a small house perching on the hilly part of their neighborhood. Iwaizumi’s mother came in to visit, together with a scowling Hajime who can barely walk right. Young Hajime wasn’t much of a talker, but it’s like the yellow roses from his mother’s garden suddenly bloomed when Hajime had said his name.

It broke his heart when he stopped – switching between Tooru and Oikawa until it’s just this painful  _Oikawa_.

Oikawa closes his eyes as he muses back in time, snuggling closer to the warm body next to him.

There were times Hajime agreed to the extra affection, but only when they were alone, only if they're walking home and no one's around, only if they're the only ones left in the gym, only if they're sleeping in Hajime's room alone and in the dark, with Hajime on the futon and Oikawa on the bed – because Oikawa always insists on the bed, but he never stays there. He’d always roll over and warms himself up next to Hajime at two in the morning. And by the time the sun rises, Hajime would wake him up with a playful smack on the face, and Tooru would just laugh and apologize and say he fell off the bed.

He tried doing that during their first sleepover in a high school field trip. Iwaizumi told him to stay on his own futon this time, because ‘things are different now’. He was an alpha, and back then Oikawa was just a beta. He wonders if he’d act differently if he presented earlier. Iwaizumi was conscious of Oikawa’s body pressing next to him. He was very still. Then he told Oikawa to go back to his futon with a very stern “we’re not kids anymore, Oikawa.”

It’s sort of the same now.

Except Iwaizumi doesn't push him away or spit out the same old ‘not kids anymore’ spiel.

Oikawa smiles.

Because Iwaizumi isn’t yelling at him, shoving him off, or waking him up to go back to his own bed. There’s not a hint of protest in the way he breathes, the way his head sinks on the pillow, the way his arm curves around his waist – _and wait, when exactly did he do that?_ – while Oikawa nestles his head under his chin.

Not a minute later, the soothing scent of Iwaizumi lulls Oikawa to deep sleep.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The first to wake up is Iwaizumi.

He’s aware of the weight on him and the warmth burrowing into his neck. Iwaizumi cracks one eye open, groaning at the brightness coming out from the windows. The curtains are pushed all the way to the side, letting in more sunlight than usual. His vision sharpens and his senses stir. He can’t see Oikawa’s face when he lowers his head to look at him. He sees brown hair and long eyelashes.

“You win.”

Iwaizumi hears him murmur. He doesn’t move.

“Win what exactly?”

Oikawa shifts and stretches at the same time, his limbs unfolding from Iwaizumi’s side. Oikawa’s in some weird angle now. He rests his chin on Iwaizumi’s chest, and now he’s face to face with the man who’s having a hard time to get his heavy eyes to open.

“Iwa-chan woke up first.”

Iwaizumi didn’t think he’d glare at him so early in the morning.

“I always wake up first.”

He underestimates the amount of effort he needed to escape from Oikawa’s weight and unyielding gaze. The warmth he soaks up from Oikawa’s glowing skin felt better than the blankets which are now saturated with the other’s scent. Oikawa doesn’t seem to want to get off any time soon. When Iwaizumi opens both his eyes, he sees Oikawa’s closed ones. _Is he falling asleep again?_ Oikawa moves and groans as he turns his head to the side, using Iwaizumi’s collarbone as a pillow. He wonders if that feels uncomfortable. Collarbones aren’t exactly soft.

“Your breath stinks.”

“And you’re an asshole,” Iwaizumi retorts quickly and gently tousles Oikawa’s unkempt hair, causing his scent to playfully nip at Iwaizumi’s senses. Oikawa’s scent is calm and soothing in the morning, like the mild tangerine smell that clings to his palms after peeling oranges. He squeezes his cheek, and the man groans at the pull. “Wake up. How am I gonna brush my teeth if you won’t get off me?”

Oikawa ignores him completely and doesn’t move an inch until his phone starts ringing like crazy.

“Answer your damn phone.”

“It’s just my sister,” Oikawa grumbles when he reaches out to the bedside table. His older sister’s image appears on his phone, along with a notification of five missed calls. “She only found out recently that I presented and she’s freaking out. We rarely get to talk to her afterall," Oikawa muses. His sister is working in another country, and can only be contacted through LINE or some other social network service. Unfortunately, Oikawa’s parents aren’t that very good with technology, so it’s hard for them to contact their daughter. “I really don't want to talk to her about this whole omega thing.”

Iwaizumi sighs and gets the chance to peek at the screen, catching a glimpse of her profile photo -- a splitting image of her baby brother. “She's a doctor. It’s normal for her to worry,” Iwaizumi says, his eyes getting heavy again. “Especially since you suck at being an omega.” Oikawa makes a sad noise, swiping his fingers to ignore another of his sister’s calls. “Now get off before I punch you.”

A series of whines and disappointed grunts later, Oikawa releases his hostage and jogs happily to the living room to turn on the television. He likes the silly horoscopes and the short cooking segments from the morning shows.

Iwaizumi lets out a resigned sigh and wakes himself up with his old friend called ice cold water.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

They don’t talk about last night, or the next nights after that.

That’s how inexplicably normal it was.

It’s November. The leaves are becoming brown and dead and started falling, but Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s questionable habits keep growing.

During practice, Iwaizumi keeps his gaze on Oikawa – who is seemingly acting normal, laughing with Sugawara and their upperclassmen on the other side of the court. They were randomly split into two teams – odds and evens. Oikawa is wearing a temporary #5 jersey while Iwaizumi sports a #8. Most of their upperclassman is wearing even numbers, so the opposite team ended up with a lot of second and first years.

Iwaizumi doesn’t know why, but he can tell Oikawa is restless, or rather, _distracted_. His tosses were mediocre at the very least, and his plays were slow – almost lackluster. His scent is disturbing and thick with anxiety, and he’s sweating more than usual. He doesn’t seem to be in heat though, no indication that he is, but Iwaizumi still can’t help but worry.

He knows something’s up when he spiked the ball too hard and hits Oikawa straight in the face.

“Oh fu—” Iwaizumi stumbles forward, peeking through the net. “O-Oikawa? Shit, sorry, I—!” Iwaizumi paused and doesn’t waste time. Several heads turn to him when his figure passed by them, running over to the other side.

Iwaizumi Hajime.

Apologizing.

For hitting Oikawa.

“D-Dumbass! What are you doing spacing out like that?!” Iwaizumi quickly adds as some weird way to redeem his image – which greatly contrasts the way he touches Oikawa, who is either crying for real or totally faking it. His forehead is throbbing red against his light skin.

“Iwa-chan, how could you!” Oikawa cries out, eyes squeezed shut. Palms covering his temples. “I wasn’t spacing out! You did that on purpose!”

“What – I did _not_! You’re supposed to receive the damn ball!”

He whines and whimpers like a puppy that was accidentally kicked by its owner. He lets his friend nurse him, his tan hands on the sides of his head, thick thumbs brushing over his temples tenderly as he ironically spits out several insults in the process.

On the opposite side of net, Sugawara finds himself looking away. He feels like he’s interfering with _something_ but he’s not exactly sure what.

“Iwaizumi-kun, are you okay?!” Tendou Satori says loudly, his towering self running over to the both of them, but grabs Iwaizumi’s shoulders instead.

“ _I’m_ the one who’s not okay here! Why are you asking him?” Oikawa says with a pout, scowling at the redhead who has a complimentary red #9 jersey. He wonders how Tendou can look both surprised and sleepy at the same time. Oikawa had always thought he was a troublesome guy since day one, but he doesn't really dislike him as much as the others. Iwaizumi hated the guy when he was still in Shiratorizawa.

Sugawara joins in, lifting the net up to approach them. “Yeah, Iwaizumi. Are you alright? You’re not some imposter are you?”

“What are you talking about?” Iwaizumi asks, genuinely confused. Oikawa is, too, and is sulking because Sugawara, of all people, is not paying attention to him.

Tendou hides behind Oikawa whose forehead is still hurting. “This Iwaizumi-kun is an imposter! Can’t you see? He just said _sorry_ for hitting _you_. Quick, Oikawa-san, you have to make sure he’s the real Iwaizumi Hajime-san!”

“Now that I think about it...” Oikawa says suddenly, his face now serious, pinching the bridge of his nose and gasping as if he had just discovered a new planet. “I can’t believe the extraterrestrials were able to overpower Iwa-chan! I never thought I’d see the day!”

“Hah?” Iwaizumi’s annoyance grows. He scowls at Oikawa. “You’re only joining in _now_?”

“Oikawa, we have to make sure this is the real one. What does the real Iwaizumi know that this imposter wouldn’t know?” Sugawara asks and completely ignores Iwaizumi, his face just as grim and it’s pissing Iwaizumi off.

Oikawa puts a hand on his chin, thinking, brown eyes staring up. “If you’re really Iwa-chan, then you should be able to answer my questions.”

There’s a crowd of the amused players around them now, even their upperclassmen are curious. It’s a good thing the coach left for a while or they’ll get shout at for sure. Their captain doesn’t seem to mind – overall he’s a pretty laidback guy and plays along.

Iwaizumi looks around at his expectant teammates before groaning in resignation. “Ugh, _fine_. If I answer your stupid questions, will you all fucking stop and get back to the ga—?”

“What time of the day was I born?” Oikawa starts out of the blue.

Sugawara and Tendou gives each other knowing looks, smiling, almost certain that Iwaizumi can win this with ease.

“It was twelve noon. The warmest day of July.”

Iwaizumi says it with utter confidence, brows raised. He crosses his arms.

“Summer vacation of 2006, where was I?”

“Tropics in the South East,” he says with no delay. It’s like he didn’t think at all. “With your sister.”

Oikawa doesn’t seem deterred by any means. “If I could marry a fictional character, who would it be?”

“Ellen Ripley.” Iwaizumi pauses and smiles almost scarily. “The _cloned_ Ellen Ripley.”

While everyone else is both amazed and shocked, Oikawa’s expression is different. He’s smiling that _adoring_ _smile_ that makes Iwaizumi look away on impulse.

“You really are Iwa-chan! I’m relieved!”

Oikawa throws himself at Iwaizumi, wrapping his arms around his neck.

He is shoved away just as Coach Inoue comes in with his usual heavy footsteps, angry and confused why everyone is huddled up on one area of the court. He stares questionably at Oikawa’s swollen forehead before ordering everyone to do deadly laps for playing around.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“All balls in the cart in 3… 2… 1…!”

Every single one scurries to grab any volleyball scattered in the court. Iwaizumi insists that Oikawa go to the locker rooms first to change while he helps the others clean up the gym and pick up the balls. Oikawa raises his brows at Iwaizumi but does what he says anyway.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

Oikawa pouts crossly at Yaku who is taking off his kneepads. “What do you mean by ‘just you’? You sound so disappointed!”

“It’s not like that. It’s just…” Yaku trails off, taking a sniff of the air around the small room. “You smell like Iwaizumi, so I thought it was him who came in. Sorry.”

“Oh, must be because I borrowed his shirt today?” Oikawa says, not quite sure himself. His head tilts down to look at his shirt. It’s Iwaizumi’s – and one of his tasteless graphic tees, too. It was the first shirt he had grabbed back home, and they often switch clothes accidentally. It’s not a big deal, Oikawa thinks.

Yaku raises a brow. “Yesterday, too. And the other day. You always smell like Iwaizumi.”

Oikawa places a hand on his hip. “Uh, well, obviously _._ We live under one roof. I’m bound to get some weird alpha hormones clinging to my skin, right?”

“Hm, I don’t think that’s how it works,” Tendou butts in, rubbing his chin and siding with the small alpha. “Your scent right now, it’s sorta like, I don’t know, intimidating?" He narrows his eyes distrustingly. "It’s almost like you’re marked, Oikawa-kun.”

Oikawa looks uneasy. Fucking alphas and their weird noses.

“You’re all thinking too much," he says with a nervous smile.

They probably had an idea now that he may  _not_  be a beta, and perhaps they’re just too wary to say it. He sees Yaku’s suspicious expression and Tendou’s eerie grin. Oikawa’s about to defend himself when a familiar scent descends upon the room and Iwaizumi steps inside, sweaty and worn-out, sleeves rolled up to his shoulders.

“Iwa-chan, Mori-chan's horrible! He’s telling me you smell bad,” Oikawa says, running over to Iwaizumi and acts like he’s whispering something in his ear, kind of like a kid ratting out his sister's crimes.

“Hey! I didn’t say that!” Yaku shouts. He growls at Oikawa who sticks out his tongue in return.

Iwaizumi purses his lips into a straight line and squints his eyes at Oikawa and Yaku who's now bickering in front of him. “Whatever,” he simply says. He’s sick of the games his teammates keep coming up with today, and if this is one of their silly pranks, Iwaizumi does not want to be any part of it. He sits down on one of the long wooden benches and began untying his shoelaces.

Then, he senses another person shuffling on the other side of the bench. Oikawa goes and grabs the hem of Iwaizumi’s shirt from behind, then lifts it, inserting his head under his shirt, causing another set of heads to turn to them yet again.

Iwaizumi seems strangely unfazed. “What’s with you?” he asks, scuffling through his duffel bag to look for the box of Salonpas he remembers buying a few days before. He acts like there’s no one stretching his shirt from behind.

He feels Oikawa’s head shift under his shirt, his fringe tickling the skin on his back.

Oikawa is scenting him again.

“I’m so tired today,” Oikawa drones sleepily. “And my forehead still hurts.”

“Your fault for spacing out.”

“I _wasn’t_ spacing out.”

His arms encircle Iwaizumi’s hips just when Iwaizumi is about to take his shirt off, suspecting eyes from the corners of the locker rooms watches them curiously and quietly. In an instant, Iwaizumi senses something is wrong. Oikawa is under suppressants, so his scent is heavily masked, but something tells him – his gut, or his _instincts_ , or whatever people called it – that Oikawa is, in fact, in heat. _That’s why he’s so agitated today,_ Iwaizumi says to himself.

He takes a drink from his sports bottle before offering it to Oikawa. Then he ruffles the bed of brown waves of hair sticking to his nape.

“Let’s go home early,” Iwaizumi suggests, twisting his body so Oikawa’s forehead can rest on his shoulder. Oikawa grabs the sports bottle. “We have a goodwill exhibition game against Showa University tomorrow, so you better sleep right this time.”

On the other side of the room, Yaku, eyes not leaving the two, slowly backpedals to Sugawara, who's pretending to get something from his locker.

“Suga, hey, are these two…” Yaku trails off just when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

“Just let them be,” Sugawara says quickly, smiling like he knows something.

Their libero looks at him, distrust in his eyes and his brows creased in bafflement.

“Aren’t they always like this, though?” Yamato, one of their spikers, says in a hushed voice so the two in question can’t hear. He smiles as his eyes look up to think, although everyone keeps saying that’s his default expression. “I can't help but think there’s something else going on. Oikawa-san is acting weird lately, and he skips practice a lot too. I don’t get it, but lately don’t you think Oikawa-san's scent is different? They’re kinda…” he trails off like Yaku because he can’t quite pinpoint what to say. He stops to look over across the room where Iwaizumi is sitting, pinching Oikawa’s cheek now and yelling something about Oikawa’s bad sleeping habits.

“… too close?” Yaku says with uncertainty, head tilting in thought. “Almost like mates—?”

“Well, they’ve been friends for a long time,” Sugawara cuts Yaku off quickly, showing off an assuring smile. He’s the only one who knows about Oikawa, and he plans on protecting his little secret until Oikawa is ready to tell everyone. “I guess it’s normal for them.”

“For them,” Yaku emphasizes.

The topic dies down when their captain suddenly barges in, screeching a pained yelp stemming from his sore legs and feet, complaining about the suicide runs Coach Inoue made them do for stopping mid-game.

Sugawara catches a glimpse of Oikawa, who is leaning on Iwaizumi, exchanging inside jokes only the two of them will understand. They’re like computers; automatic – programmed to each other’s affection since their installment. The second-string setter sighs fondly and looks at them one last time, noticing how Oikawa clings to Iwaizumi’s torso. It almost seems like he’s _charging_. Sugawara laughs inwardly at the thought.

Once everyone is all cleaned up and had bid their goodbyes, Oikawa immediately twirls from his position and sits in front of Iwaizumi, legs astride the bench, nestling his head on his neck.

“You’re so needy,” Iwaizumi grunts, marking him as well, tilting his head to trace his skin on the other’s neckline.

“This is fine, right? You’re not grossed out?” Oikawa asks anxiously, pulling away a few inches away to look at the green eyes that appears to be dark gray under the locker room lighting.

“I would’ve hit you by now if I weren’t okay with it,” he says, almost angry that Oikawa is doubting him.

“You _did_ hit me today.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” Iwaizumi swears if Oikawa brings that up one more time he’ll hit him for real.

Oikawa hums a disbelieving tone, and Iwaizumi can feel his throat vibrate. “I’ll do this a lot from now on.” His arms circle Iwaizumi’s waist, resting his forehead on his shoulder, cheeks on his collarbone. Oikawa breathes out a short laugh. “You started it anyway.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He could smell Oikawa’s hair. It smells like his usual scent, and tangerine, mixing in with his sweat and his stifled pheromones. There’s a delicate but skittish tingling on the surface of his skin, and Iwaizumi is starting to think that he might like being marked like how Oikawa enjoys being marked by him.

Oikawa basks in his comforting touch. He wants to stay like that a little longer, but Iwaizumi stands up suddenly to close his locker, suggesting they should go home before the sun goes down.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi doesn’t know exactly what he had done in his past life to deserve this torture.

It’s three in the morning when he opens his eyes.

There’s a head full of soft, brown hair settled into the crook of his neck, and long, lanky arms draped over his heaving chest. He lets him. Of course he fucking lets him. It’s Oikawa. He’d always end up doing what he wants. The young man had trouble sleeping again that night, just like the other nights before that, but now it’s actually Iwaizumi who finds it hard to fall back asleep.

Oikawa had always been firm on the idea that his best friend is considerably one of the most reserved alphas in the world – with unbreakable resolve and self-control, not even the scent of ten omegas in heat can break him.

But Oikawa is wrong.

So, so wrong.

Iwaizumi lets out a huge, pained sigh, lying on his back, covering his eyes with his arm. Turning his head over to the other man, he checks if he might have roused him out of his sleep. But Oikawa breathes deeply and calmly as always. By now, his other outstretched arm is starting to feel numb, Oikawa having a good time lying on it. Clearly, this is _not_ a very light man, Iwaizumi muses. He’s a tall, heavy, grown ass idiot and weighs just a few kilograms below Iwaizumi.

And that too.

Oikawa forgets that he’s six feet tall and that _maybe_ he isn’t as light and small as he was back then. They barely fit in the bed now. Iwaizumi supposes that he’ll fall if Oikawa shifts clumsily – and he swears he’s going to be fucking insane if the next couple of nights will end up like this.

It’s a good thing Oikawa is in his deepest sleep, so he doesn’t notice that Iwaizumi’s sweatpants beneath the sheets are getting tighter and tighter with every exhale he breathes out.

Oikawa has no idea that his supposedly reserved and stalwart alpha friend is in a rut.

Iwaizumi thinks that there must be something wrong with him, just like how Oikawa sucks being an omega. Maybe he sucks being an alpha too. His ruts are becoming more frequent – which is super awkward and abnormal by the way, because it happens even if Oikawa’s not in heat. He is fully aware that ruts only happen if there’s an omega is in heat. That’s not the case right now.

He eases off the bed to deal with his dishonorable condition, careful not to wake Oikawa who made a disappointed noise when his source of warmth suddenly left.

Iwaizumi wonders how he ends up taking a very cold shower at three in the morning in the middle of a very cold autumn. He also wonders why he comes back to the bed and repositions an asleep Oikawa and holds him even closer.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

There’s an old 80s ballad by Hiromi Go playing over the radio of their university bus.

It’s a rather cool morning that even their team jackets aren’t enough to push down the goosebumps popping out on their skin. Oikawa is in deep sleep, his head leaning on the large windows, the mild, early morning sunlight painting his features charmingly. Iwaizumi sits next to him.

“That guy slept late again?”

Iwaizumi turns to the owner of the voice, who is sitting on the seats just across them. It’s one of the third year regulars, Hirata Koji.

“Yeah, even though I told him not to.”

Hirata-senpai’s face is firm and square, with bleached hair and dark brown eyes capable of kindness. He and Oikawa are the only betas in the first string. Now, Hirata is the only beta. He doesn’t know that yet though.

“He can play in the second set if he’s too tired,” Hirata suggests with concern, eyeing the sleeping figure next to Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi scoffs. “I doubt he’d like that.”

“You don’t really look good yourself,” Hirata says, noting the faint bags under his eyes.

“Yeah.” Iwaizumi looks at the culprit responsible for his lack of sleep. “Couldn’t sleep last night too.”

The bus driver almost forgets to slow down on a speed bump, causing the vehicle to jump, and Oikawa’s head to hit the window. He groans lowly, squeezing his eyes at the shot of pain, but he remains asleep. Iwaizumi notices the road is becoming rougher, and the bus bounces with every sharp turn.

“You’re gonna get a headache at this rate,” Iwaizumi scolds him in whispers, but he goes ahead and steers Oikawa’s head away from the windows anyway. He lets Oikawa perch on his shoulder instead, his coarse hands keeping it in place.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It takes less than an hour to arrive at Showa University’s gymnasium located in the southern ward of the capital.

The game starts out fine, with the team winning the first set. It starts to go downhill after that however, because somehow, Showa, who had never placed in any inter-collegiate match for the past forty years, _won_ the second set.

Oikawa grits his teeth, his eyes casting a dark shadow.

He blames this sudden headache of his. It started last night up until the morning he woke up. Whenever he would look up to set the ball, several quarters of his brain would throb in pain. Oikawa starts to worry. Half of his tosses have been clumsy, and he hopes the coach won’t notice. He knows he will, though. Oikawa hardly ever makes mistakes, and on rare occasions that he does, Coach Inoue would berate him to no end. Just as he expected, the coach calls for a timeout in the middle of the last set.

It’s a draw so far. 17-17.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi calls out softly so the coach won’t hear. His brows creased worriedly, grabbing Oikawa’s elbow for good measure because he looks like he’s about to pass out. “You look pale. Are you—?”

“Just a headache,” he cuts him off before Iwaizumi could finish. Oikawa looks away from him. “Nothing big.” Oikawa catches the glint of doubt in Iwaizumi’s eyes. He can probably tell he’s lying. Oikawa pretends to listen to the coach, scolding them of their poor plays. It’s been poor because Oikawa can’t set the right mood. A wave of nausea washes over him and his skull starts to pound even harder, his brain sticking needles behind his eyes. He balls his fists tight.

Maybe it’s because he took two suppressants at once.

He regrets it. Oikawa wanted to make sure he doesn’t feel his heat during the game. Knowing it wasn’t remotely close to being a good idea, he did it anyway. _Headaches are better than heats,_ he believes. His cycle had started just two days ago, but it’s not as insufferable as before. The shameful symptoms are all gone – his sense of smell is weak, no fevers, and he doesn’t feel anything other than the repressed warmth boiling pointlessly in his gut.

Iwaizumi leans in closer, his face serious. He grabs hold of Oikawa’s wrist like shackles, and he doesn’t plan on letting go until Oikawa gives him a good answer.

“You’re in heat, aren’t you?”

Oikawa’s big, surprised eyes is a dead giveaway, but he shakes his head with a haughty grin and assures Hajime that it’s just a headache and that he’s worrying about nothing. Oikawa yanks his wrist free.

The whistle blows and they go back to their positions.

Oikawa keeps the pace slow this time, making sure there’s no room for mistakes. His team eventually finds their groove later on, but Showa clawed their way back as his headache worsens, forcing his teammates into a flurry of errors.

The gods must really hate him.

“Shit,” Oikawa mutters under his breath.

He stands on the baseline, holding the ball. The court looks so wide and intimidating at this angle.

The opposite team is on match point, and Oikawa is next to serve.

Oikawa considers not doing a jump serve, even though his body is already so used to it. It’s like breathing by now – his footwork, armswing, his toss – they all come naturally at this point. But if he misses, they’ll lose, and Showa will win. Oikawa takes a deep breath. He takes five steps back, brushes the dirt off the ball. His vision catches the sight of Iwaizumi eyeing him, his vulturine eyes telling him not to chicken out. So he goes for it and tosses the ball almost twenty feet into the air, and steps forward with his usual approach.

It feels good when the ball hits his palm and the enemy couldn’t move an inch before it landed dangerously hard on the ground.

On his second serve, Oikawa feels the morale going up, his teammates cheering for him. _Alright, easy, I can do this._ Just few more of his killer serves and they can win. He breathes in and breathes out.

With a flick of his wrist, the ball goes airborne. Oikawa tilts his head up, and runs forward, left foot first, then right, then he jumps on both. The gymnasium lights are blinding and Oikawa’s eyes widen when he can’t see the ball – the throbbing in his skull blurring his vision. Hesitantly, he looks behind him.

He ran right past it.

But he swings his arms even when it’s too late. He catches the ball, spinning on the tip of his fingers, hardly even reaching the base of his palm. Oikawa stumbles forward and falls, watching as the ball barely make it as the net catches it pathetically.

The home team cheers loudly as the whistle marks the end of the game, and Oikawa wonders why. It’s just an exhibition match. Then he thinks about it – of course they’ll celebrate. They won against last year’s champions in the All-Japan Intercollegiate games.

He sees Iwaizumi run frantically towards his motionless figure, as he sat there on the ground in disbelief.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The team left the gymnasium with post-game blues.

And Oikawa disappeared from Iwaizumi’s side after the team’s little get-together downtown.

It’s not a surprise when Iwaizumi comes home to an empty apartment, and he doesn’t waste any minute to run back to the campus. It’s already half past ten and Iwaizumi swears if he sees Oikawa practicing by himself again he’ll cut his fucking feet off so he’d stay his ass home. Just as Iwaizumi had expected, the little gym next to their school building had its lights open. He quickly invites himself in as he hears a ball hitting the ground.

He meets his gaze – Oikawa’s tired eyes becoming bigger.

The young omega has his hands on his trembling knees, ragged breaths visible against the cold air. It pisses Iwaizumi off when he notices how Oikawa could barely stand, and he finds the urge to want to catch him. He stomps angrily towards the weary setter.

“How many times am I going to have to drag you outta here?” he shouts, irritation seeping through his voice, forgetting to mind his tone. He’s about to grab him by the collar of his shirt and drag him out when Oikawa falls to the ground, his knees finally giving in. He tries to stand, and fails. Iwaizumi doesn’t think twice and kneels down to his level, apologizing for yelling at him.

“Iwa-chan, it’s my fault,” Oikawa huffs suddenly, head dipped down. “We lost to the shittiest team in Tokyo because of me – because of this stupid—” He hits the ground with his reddening fists. “— _fucking heat._ ” He hits it several times. “I _hate_ this! Being an omega is hard enough, so why does it have to be harder? Why me? Why did I turn out like this?”

His hands are getting red.

Oikawa curses his heats, his suppressants – curses fate and every possible thing that led him to become an omega. There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow down. “I can't even control a stupid thing like this when I'm already falling behind as a setter,” He breathes out raggedly, covering his face with his shaking hands. “I get it now." Oikawa bites his lip. "I get why Tobio easily surpassed me, why Ushiwaka just keeps getting stronger," he cries out in sad realization, his voice dying down near the end, resonating throughout the empty court.

Iwaizumi holds back the impulse to pull him closer, wondering if perhaps he shouldn’t hold back at all.

It’s always been like this, even way back before he presented. Oikawa had always been jealous of everyone's natural talent. He had to overcompensate for being a beta – had to compensate for his weaknesses that weren’t even there. Yet these weaknesses still managed to slap him hard in the face in the most crucial moments. “Coach kicked me out of the first string, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sobs in frustration, his voice cracking into a whimper as his teary eyes look up at Iwaizumi. “He won’t let me play in the Bunkyo Tournament!”

He stares at him wide-eyed. When did the coach decide that?

“Oikawa… I—” Iwaizumi breathes out but stops.

It hurts him to see Oikawa like this. And for the first time, he doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to make him feel better. How would Iwaizumi know? He doesn’t know what it feels like – what it’s like to be Oikawa. He can’t just say ‘I know how you feel’ or ‘everything will be alright’. Because frankly, Iwaizumi knows it won’t get any better. Ever. Because he’ll be an omega until the end of his days, and that’s a fact Oikawa can’t seem to accept.

So Iwaizumi stands up and says what he thinks is best, holding out his hand for Oikawa to take.

“Hey, wanna go somewhere cool?”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s the first time Oikawa visits their university’s swimming pool.

He’d think he’d be amazed if he sees it, since the university keeps boasting about it on school life magazines and news articles—except the place is pitch black and Oikawa can’t see anything.

Oikawa slowly turns his head at Iwaizumi, wrapping his arms around himself. “I-Is this where you plan on murdering me, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi notes his fearful expression even amidst the darkness. He lightly elbows him on the ribs. “Wait here, dumbass.”

He listens to Iwaizumi’s footsteps slowly fade as he disappears into the lifeguard’s office. Oikawa goes ahead and kneels by the poolside, but he doesn’t let his hands touch the water just yet. _It’s so dark,_ Oikawa says to himself, staring at the pool that looks more like an immeasurable abyss. _What if some ghost pulls me down?_   Afraid to touch the water, Oikawa cranes his neck back to check on Iwaizumi. The air is getting cold and it’s scaring him.

“Iwa-chan, hurry up!”

“Shut up and wait!” he hears the other’s muffled shout back from the office.

Oikawa pouts, making a displeased noise from the back of his throat.

The loud, whirring sound that suddenly emanates from the bottom of the pool causes Oikawa to jump. He stands up and stumbles away from the pool in reflex. But as the noises from the pool lights and maintenance system die down, the surroundings slowly brightens into a warm blue color, and Oikawa’s big eyes become even bigger.

Now he can see everything – the large Olympic-sized pool is no longer black, several pool lights lined up beneath the water delicately illuminating the turquoise waters, as well as the picture windows that graciously dominated the four walls. And he can see Iwaizumi walking back to him with a proud grin plastered on his face.

“Cool, huh?”

Iwaizumi kneels by the edge, dipping his hands in the water.

“I didn’t even know this place existed,” Oikawa says, crossing his arms. His jaw drops in awe.

Another minute later, he notices Iwaizumi pulling his sweatshirt over his head. The illuminated ripples of the water sprinkles his upper body like blue blotches of paint, curving at every bump, at every hard muscle. Throwing off his shoes on one corner, he goes and takes his pants off too, leaving him only in his boxers. He’s the first to jump in, disappearing completely beneath the water before popping out with a loud gasp.

“Holy shit, it’s deep!” he says, surprised. His feet doesn’t touch the pool floor. “Get in, Oikawa! The water’s warm! Don’t just stand there like a creep!”

Oikawa hesitates at first, but he removes his sweat-stained clothes and overused black-and-blue Asics. He notices Iwaizumi looking away when he slips his pants off.

He jumps in.

His feet doesn’t reach the floors either. “You liar!” Oikawa shouts when he goes up to the surface to breathe. “This is so fucking cold!” His lips quiver as he swings his arms again to splash Iwaizumi with icy, chlorine-infused water.

“Hey!” Iwaizumi grunts and splashes him with double the force.

Oikawa learns not to get into Iwaizumi’s nerves at the moment, because his splashes are way stronger and actually causes him _pain_. He stops to wipe his face and breathes deeply, pushing a hand back through his soaked hair. He stares at his fingers that are beginning to prune, and thinks how this situation isn’t any different from before.

'Wanna go somewhere cool?' is what a young Hajime would say before taking him to the river, to the banks near the butcher’s shop. He’d say it with a boyish smile, and an open hand.

They would swim and pretend to be the heroes in their cartoons, trying to catch spotted barbs and crawfish with their shirts, thinking it would work. Tooru collected pretty-looking rocks, showing them to Hajime. And they’ll stay until the sun would set, until their skin wrinkled, until Tooru’s big round eyes become heavy with sleep. Hajime had to carry him home one time. As soon as they reached their neighborhood, Oikawa’s mother would run up to them, worried because she hadn’t seen them all day, and Oikawa remembers his young self crying because his mother scolded him and threatened him that he wouldn’t be allowed to play with Hajime anymore if he ran off without permission again.

“Remember when you were taller than me?” Oikawa asks, reminiscing, arms wading tiredly beneath the water to keep himself afloat. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes because he knows where this is going. “Oh, you probably can’t.”

Iwaizumi slaps the water between them, Oikawa shielding himself with his arms. “You always act like I’m so short.”

He really isn’t _that_ short, and Oikawa knows. In truth, Iwaizumi is taller than the average guy, but Oikawa doesn’t fail to point out the meager one and a half inch difference between them.

“Well, aren’t you? You can’t even reach the bottom of the pool.”

“Liar.” Iwaizumi scoffs. “This is almost three meters deep, dumbass. You can’t reach it either.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Oh, yeah?”

Iwaizumi edges forward menacingly and wraps a leg over Oikawa’s calf, pulling him down to prove his point. Oikawa gets his revenge by dragging the other man down as well, clasping Iwaizumi’s wrists so their arms can’t paddle back up. When they can no longer breathe, Iwaizumi’s legs releases Oikawa, but Oikawa doesn’t let go until they resurface.

“Are you trying to drown us, you idiot?!” Iwaizumi shouts out, panting. His face is flushed and his eyes red from the chlorine. Oikawa only laughs, and the other looks back with surprise. It’s the first time Oikawa laughed so hard today. It must’ve been contagious, because Iwaizumi finds himself laughing too.

Having to make themselves float for a long time pushed their breathing, and Oikawa decides to go to the shallower parts of the pool until his toes can reach the base. Oikawa stops laughing gradually, his thoughts sidetracking by the way the water is falling from Iwaizumi flattening but still spiky hair, tracing down his arms and chest.

The playful splashing and laughing halts entirely, and the echoes of their voices died down. Their breaths went from cackles to warm, heavy exhales. Oikawa's face is a light shade purple, his red, flushed cheeks mixing in with the blue swimming pool lights beneath.

Iwaizumi notices the slightest twitch in Oikawa's eyes and the slight tension in his expression, his lips suddenly a straight line. Iwaizumi asks to make sure, "What's wrong?"

Oikawa shoots him a worried expression. "I think my foot’s starting to cramp."

"Quick. Let's get out of the water."

Oikawa wades cautiously to the pool ladder and lifts himself up. He sits by the poolside and stretches his leg forward, the muscle connecting his left foot to his calf beginning to contract abnormally. The cool draft breezes against his wet skin, and he shivers slightly, covering himself with his arms. Oikawa watches as Iwaizumi places both palms on the poolside. The man hoisted himself up just with one effortless thrust from his arms, water dripping lavishly from head to toe. He settles in front of him, cross-legged and worried.

“This is all _your_ fault, if you did— _ow_ , ow, stop!” Oikawa yelps when he feels a sharp pain when Iwaizumi grabs his ankle and presses his thumbs on his hardened foot muscles.

“Stay still, will you?” Iwaizumi says, he continues to knead the other’s foot in attempt to soften it. He presses harder at the contracted muscle and forces his toes to point out. Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, because his toes are curling up by itself and the soles of his feet feel like they’re being welded into place.

While Iwaizumi is trying to unstiffen his cramps, Oikawa glowers down, dejected.

“What do I do now, Iwa-chan?” he asks him all of a sudden, voice soft and troubled. He bends his other knee and rests his cheek on it. “ _Rest and lie low_ my ass. Coach will never put me in a game again after today’s match.”

“We’ll figure something out.” Iwaizumi doesn’t look at him and focuses on Oikawa’s foot. “Besides, I’m no longer a regular like you.”

“What?” Oikawa’s shoulders stiffen, brows furrowed in confusion. “Why? You did nothing wrong! You were great in the last—”

“I made a deal,” Iwaizumi says sternly, cutting him off. “If coach kicks you out, I’ll get kicked out too. That’s what I told him when he found out about you. The Hosei coach had told him that you’re an omega, so…” he trails off, not really planning on saying anything else after. Oikawa stops himself from hugging the man. He realizes he needed more effort to do that when Iwaizumi flashes him an assuring smile. “Let’s hope our team loses on the next game so they’ll realize how much they need us.”

Oikawa feels another lump residing in his drying throat, his gaze residing on Iwaizumi’s focused, green eyes that looks more like a shade of blue right now. “Some people just won’t appreciate you until you’re gone, huh?” he says out loud, realizing that he voiced out his thoughts instead. Iwaizumi looks at him curiously, his brows raising.

“You’re crying again?” he asks, pursing his already smiling lips to repress a laugh.

Oikawa doesn’t realize there are tears threatening to fall until Iwaizumi pointed it out. He seems to be doing that a lot lately. He just rubs his eyes on his knee, letting his own skin soak up the tears.

He huffs. “I’m not the one who cried after our last high school match.”

“You’re still—!” Iwaizumi’s face reddens in embarrassment, frowning. “Stop bringing that up or I _will_ drown you.” He presses his thumb more firmly on Oikawa’s cramping foot, making the man bark in pain. “It was an important match for us. At least I don’t cry over shitty practice matches and exhibition games that don’t mean anything.”

Oikawa likes that about him. He’s very sentimental, although Iwaizumi himself isn’t aware of it.

He observes as Iwaizumi sharply winds his ankle. The spasms are fading and his muscles aren’t involuntarily contracting anymore. Gray pool-strained eyes stare back at him from time to time, but he keeps focusing back on relieving the pain in his foot. There’s a comfortable silence that fell between them, between the visible breaths and light blue ripples and shadows dancing on their skin.

Is this normal? Are they normal? Do friends sleep next to each other? Scent mark each other? He ponders if other people do what they do – will other people be able to do what Iwaizumi does? Will they buy him beer in the middle of the night? Will they massage his foot when he gets cramps? Will other people be willing to skip class to take care of him? Will they beat up another alpha for him? Will they endure a nine-hour Alien marathon with him? The chances of finding someone like Iwaizumi are slim – so very slim and Oikawa understands it only now. No one else can do those things.

Honestly, Oikawa just can’t imagine doing these things with someone else.

“Iwa-chan?” he murmurs without thinking.

Oikawa wants to ask him all of the questions flowing in his thoughts, but he backs out immediately.

“Hm?”

He shakes his head. “Nothing.” Oikawa then presses his cheek back on his bended knee, watching Hajime.

It takes one look and a pair of green eyes for him to realize.

He’s like the ocean. Hajime is exactly that – he’s strong and relentless, his tidal waves enough to kill a man. Sometimes, the waves would hurt, and he forgets that he’s vast and intimidating, but he never became so much as an ocean in the middle of a storm, because in reality, he’s kind, and he’s gentle – like the peaceful sea on a sunny day, and just like that, Oikawa always finds his presence comfortable, calming.

 _I want to kiss him._ The thought is sudden and Oikawa doesn’t mind – thinks it’s not strange at all. He could throw his arms around him right then and there. Oikawa thinks again and again and the same thing echoes. _Oh god, I want to kiss him so bad._ His eyes travels to his mouth, chapped and pursed in concentration, a sharp-featured face nestling under wet, spiky black hair that is now sticking out on weird directions.

And it makes him wonder if friends think of kissing each other too.

“Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi’s voice snaps him out of his hypnotized thoughts.

“Is it okay now?”

Oikawa’s head dips down to look at his extended foot and stretches it.

It’s soft again, and it feels perfectly fine.

“No,” Oikawa says and bites his lip.

He curls his toes upward to pretend.

“Not yet, Iwa-chan.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The first thing Oikawa does is to check the bulletin board outside the Taito Riverside Sports Center.

They have another exhibition match against a rather popular university. Just as Oikawa had predicted, he was benched for the entire game. It was not so lonely when he has Iwaizumi as a fellow benchwarmer. The only thing Oikawa enjoys from this whole ‘lie low’ thing is that Sugawara gets to play more. He’s still not the starting setter unfortunately – an Applied Chemistry third-year student stealing the spotlight away from him and Oikawa. Their older spikers scored the majority of the points, but not enough points apparently.

Unsurprisingly, Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s absence took a toll on the team, and they lost after three sets.

The team goes back to the locker rooms, Coach Inoue taking out his anger on the upperclassmen who failed to recompense. The next match against Keio happens in a blur, Oikawa still playing the honorary role of benchwarmer throughout the game. The team wins this time, though, but Oikawa thinks it’s just pure luck because his friend Matsukawa Issei and the other first-string players of Keio University weren’t able to attend, something about not wanting to miss important exams.

The third and last game is scheduled at four in the afternoon. There’s a long break between the matches and Oikawa feels like he’d been on break for too long.

Just as the name suggests, the Taito Riverside Sports Center sits right next to the riverbank. The surface of the river is smooth, covered with falling dead leaves, stretching firm from bank to bank like autumn-patterned silk. Oikawa is sitting on the small set of steps facing the silvery river when Iwaizumi appears in his field of vision, holding a Lawson paper bag under his arm.

He manages to catch it when Iwaizumi throws it to him.

“You’re taking this quite well,” Iwaizumi says, crossing his arms as he sits down beside him.

Oikawa shrugs, laughing as he himself is surprised at his lack of brooding. “It’s kind of refreshing, you know? I feel great and I’m not sweating and stuff. Plus, it’s funny to see our team lose without me – their one and only omega player.” Iwaizumi is relieved even Oikawa can joke about this. There’s milk bread inside the bag and Hajime sees his eyes shine. “You think Coach Inoue will put us in the next game?”

“It depends.” Iwaizumi smiles a little, but Oikawa is quick enough to catch it. “We’re up against Tokyo Denki University next. I heard it’s an alpha-only team.”

A dark feeling swells through him as he roughly opens the packet of his milk bread. Alphas make him uncomfortable now, except only for a few – Iwaizumi, his own teammates, and a few of his friends in class. He squares his shoulders and raises his chin.

“It’s fine, isn’t it? We have Masahisa-senpai anyway,” Oikawa says, thick sarcasm seeping from his voice. The third-year student has replaced Oikawa for the meantime. He wouldn’t feel as bitter as now if Sugawara took his place instead. “Coach Inoue thinks he’s a better setter than me because he’s older and smarter and an _alpha_.” He angrily munches on his milk bread, devouring unhurriedly. “I don’t know. Maybe he _is_ better. He plays really well.”

Iwaizumi raises his hand from his lap, pressing his hand on Oikawa’s cheek. He tilts his face to face his own, and at that second, Oikawa’s breathing stops. The gesture surprises him, his wide eyes staring back at Iwaizumi’s serious ones, mouth still full and stopping mid-chew.

Fuck oxygen.

It doesn’t matter that his lungs is constricting with the lack of air.

Who needs to breathe when Hajime can look at him like that?

“You’re the best goddamn setter in this city. Alpha, beta or omega – _fuck_ that shit. It doesn’t mean anything. You have the strongest fucking serve than any other alpha and you _know_ it.”

Oikawa almost chokes before swallowing the food in his mouth. The hand on his face is so warm, he keeps thinking. He opens his mouth, an indrawn breath away from speaking. Then he finds that he couldn’t speak at all. Iwaizumi’s face is too close, which has never been a problem before, really. Iwaizumi’s low voice had an encouraging undertone to it, his words echoing loudly inside his chest.

Iwaizumi inclines back and lets his hand fall back to his knee, his head turning to face forward as he stares at the riverbanks. He feels a weight on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

Oikawa doesn’t say those words often enough for Iwaizumi to get used to it. A fluffy head of brown hair rests on his shoulder for a few minutes before a cold breeze passes them. He shudders at the sudden chill, an indication that it might be best to go back inside the building.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The day isn’t even over yet but the rumors had already started circulating. Oikawa brings up his smartphone close to his face so no one else can see, checking the anonymous textboards and university forums. While the majority of his private messages are from girls, there are some genuine fans who are sincerely worried. His lips curve into a small smile.

There’s one conversation that catches Oikawa’s attention, swiping his fingers down to read the replies.

 **Oikawa Tooru official thread #4** **_Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:06:54 No. 6758960

Thoughts on Oikawa-san? He hasn’t played on any of the matches today.

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:07:09 No. 6758962  
Probably just saving his energy… the Bunkyo Tournament is next month…

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:07:53 No. 6758968  
or he got benched for his terrible play last Tuesday against Showa

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:08:45 No. 6758970  
That was super embarrassing Showa is literally the worst team in Japan (lol)

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:10:09 No. 6758982  
>>6758970  
Chuo lost to Showa??? Really??? What happened??

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:10:36 No. 6758984  
>>6758982  
Oikawa messed up his serve when Showa was on set point (lol)

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:11:17 No. 6758989  
it could be because of an injury  
he had a bad fall like 2 months ago

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:11:50 No. 6758991  
>>6758989  
Maybe his knee is acting up again huh

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:12:54 No. 6758995  
WAIT guys isn’t this because maybe he’s an omega????  
My friend from Hosei University said an alpha from their team got expelled  
because he attacked Oikawa-san??

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:13:21 No. 6758998  
>>6758995  
dude seriously? Where did that come from?  
and what does being an omega have to do with anything?  
Iwaizumi Hajime isn’t playing too and he’s an alpha

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:14:56 No. 6758999  
>>6758998  
Ummm sports teams don’t like omega players…  
there’s only, like, 2 first-string omegas I know in all of Tokyo (lol)  
but yea it’s weird Iwaizumi-san isn’t playing either

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:15:46 No. 6759003  
>>6758998  
>>6758999  
they’re a “buy one take one package” (lol)  
if Oikawa-san doesn’t play iwaizumi-san won’t either

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:16:07 No. 6759004  
Oikawa-san doesn’t seem like an omega to me  
his power serves are crazy!!!  
it doesnt really matter though

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:16:23 No. 6759005  
I heard he presented just recently, but I’m not sure.  
A friend of mine attending Hosei said the same thing  
and why isn’t Iwaizumi-san playing too????? is he ok??

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:17:21 No. 6759009  
I’m from Hosei. VBC here also says Oikawa is an omega??  
and to answer >>6759005  
Iwaizumi-san broke Morimoto Nakai’s nose (lol)  
he probably got in trouble bc of that.. what a guy

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:18:09 No. 6759010  
>>6759009  
Iwaizumi-san only did that for Oikawa-san  
he’s not the type who’d just break a guy’s nose (lol)

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:18:42 No. 6759011  
>>6759009  
Morimoto got expelled right?  
serves him right that guy’s a jerk!!  
how can I personally thank Iwaizumi-san

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:20:44 No. 6759014  
Can anyone from Chuo confirm this?  
>>6759009  
>>6759009  
>>6759009

 ** _Stormtrooper#02_** _!!6V10ha+2nQ0u_ 11/23/xx 15:23:39 No. 6759019  
>>6759014  
I’m from Chuo University.  
Yes, Oikawa-kun  is an omega (*ﾟﾉOﾟ)

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 15:24:44 No. 6759020  
>6759019  
no way!! Really?? I never woulda thought…  
and did Iwaizumi-san really break that Hosei spiker’s nose??? (lol)

 ** _Stormtrooper#02_** _!!6V10ha+2nQ0u_ 11/23/xx 15:25:36 No. 6759021  
>>6759020  
I’m not sure (lol)  
I’ll go ask him if I see him (๑≧౪≦)

 

Oikawa didn’t get the chance to see the replies under his posts when their assistant coach instructs the team, regular or not, to do warm-ups.

“Iwa-chan,” he says, getting the attention he needs when Iwaizumi tilts his head at him. He tosses a ball to him. Iwaizumi receives it effortlessly. “Do you know Morimoto Nakai?”

The other man stiffens at the mention of his name. “It’s that alpha from Hosei.”

“The alpha whose nose you allegedly broke?” He catches the ball when it comes floating back to his direction, a grin dominating his expression.

With one eyebrow raised, Iwaizumi stares at him, confused. “Yeah,” he answers simply and receives another ball from Oikawa. He doesn’t remember telling Oikawa about that, but he does remember Morimoto harassing Oikawa and it makes his blood boil. “How’d you know?”

“People online are wondering why we’re not playing at any of the matches recently.”

“And?”

“They say it’s because you got into a fight with the player from Hosei.” Oikawa laughs softly before craning his neck up to toss a ball to Iwaizumi. “Because he ‘jumped on Oikawa-san’ when he presented.” Iwaizumi doesn’t speak, only watching Oikawa with focused, dark eyes. “They know I’m an omega now,” he says assertively with an unaffected smile. “I told them that I am.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know whether to be surprised or impressed or glad. He pitches Oikawa the same ball they’ve been passing around. “It’s only a matter of time before the news spread out.”

Oikawa spikes the ball this time.

“That's the plan.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Their last game for the day started poorly, with Tokyo Denki winning the first set. It was a close match though, Chuo scurrying back to keep the game tied. But it wasn’t enough. In the second set, the opposing team was always one point ahead.

When the game is at an embarrassing 15-20, Oikawa couldn’t take it and stands up from his seat, approaching Coach Inoue who’s burning with frustration. He hears Iwaizumi whisper, “where do you think you’re going?” before tapping the coach’s shoulders.

“Tell you what, coach,” Oikawa starts, placing a hand on his hips. “Put me and Hajime in and…” Coach Inoue stares back at him silently, waiting for a more persuading proposal. He doesn’t seem too amused. Oikawa smiles confidently, dark eyes sharp and resolute. “If we win this set, _and_ if we win the match, you have to bring us back as regulars.”

First, Coach Inoue calls for Iwaizumi to play, his eyes wide at Oikawa, mouthing “what the hell did you tell him?” as he jogs towards the court, gaze still on his friend. Oikawa only winks at him. A second-year outside spiker is benched, and he seems very relieved, too. Iwaizumi helps in cutting through the enemy’s defense until the score is 20-21. He’s on a roll, having played very little for the past few matches. Then, Oikawa comes in as a pinch server, and for a minute the crowd is louder and the lights are brighter.

Oikawa hears several “nice serve!” from his teammates, standing tall and positively, a sinister smile coating his face, left foot forward. _It’s all in the feet_ , Oikawa believes. Jump serves always start with the feet. It’s not with the armswing, or strength, or how high the ball goes up, or how strong he hits it with his palm – it’s about the weight he puts beneath him.

With his right hand, he tosses the ball high. He counts to three, pushing off his right foot in the back. The momentum of his entire body is perfect – his hips rotating, his shoulders pivoting in the right angle, his arms swinging by design. It’s like his body just experienced a bio-mechanical chain reaction.

The ball zooms like a bullet through a flock of doves.

It hits the ground before anyone from the other side of the court can react. Even his own teammates feel like they won’t be able to catch that serve. Oikawa doesn’t hesitate to repeat the same thing, his serves getting stronger and stronger each time, until the set is theirs to take with a four point lead.

On the final set, it was Iwaizumi’s turn, all that pent-up frustration materializing into his spikes that seemed to break through every single block. Oikawa felt nothing but satisfaction whenever his spikes hits the enemy’s side of the court. He could easily bag the Best Scorer award if he really wanted to, and there was no doubt he could replace their senior ace once he graduates next year.

Oikawa immediately turns to face Coach Inoue as soon as they scored the last winning point.

The old man smiles back with pride.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

 **Oikawa Tooru official thread #6** **_Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:18:25 No. 6759788

Anyone watching the game here in Taito Riverside?  
Oikawa-san was amazing today!!

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:20:48 No. 6759790  
Yeah!! Oikawa-san’s serves were super cool!  
I bet their coach would bring him back to first string (lol)

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:20:59 No. 6759791  
Omega or not, Oikawa-san’s plays seemed to be unaffected  
I think he got even better. Good job Oikawa-san!

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:21:33 No. 6759793  
>>6759791  
Oikawa’s an omega??????

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:22:46 No. 6759795  
>>6759793  
Umm yeah? Guy from Chuo confirmed it earlier??  
He goes by the name Stormtrooper#02 around here  
Go read the previous threads you cretin

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:23:07 No. 6759796  
>>6759793  
it’s verified. He got benched because of it  
their coach is pretty old-school huh (lol)

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:24:36 No. 6759799  
Iwaizumi-san seemed to be on edge today too!  
Did you see him play earlier?? It’s scary!!

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:25:19 No. 6759801  
>>6759799  
yeah his spikes are way too scary!

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:25:58 No. 6759802  
>>6759799  
I feel like my arms would break if I try receiving those (lol)

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:26:24 No. 6759805  
>>6759799  
You sure the floors werent bent?? (lol)  
Iwaizumi-san’s spikes & Oikawa’s serves were extra scary today

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:30:03 No. 6759809  
File: IMG_4248.jpg (1.8 MB, 1136x640)  
Speaking of Iwaizumi-san, I saw him earlier after the game!!!  
here he is being approached by lots of girls.. so jealous!!

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:31:58 No. 6759810  
Iwaizumi-san had always given out that manly vibe, you know?  
Girls never approach me!! Even though I’m an alpha??

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:32:08 No. 6759811  
File: 20xx1123_172623.jpg (2.6 MB, 2988x5312)  
>>6759809  
look at all the girls surrounding Oikawa though (lol)  
here, have a blurry pic

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:32:55 No. 6759812  
>>6759809  
>>6759810  
Iwaizumi-san is cool but I still like Oikawa-kun better （●ゝω・）

 ** _Stormtrooper#02_** _!!6V10ha+2nQ0u_ 11/23/xx 17:32:59 No. 6759013  
I agree with Anonymous-chan (σﾟ∀ﾟ)σ >>6759812  
But Iwaizumi-kun has his own charm too don’t ya think? v(・∀・*) 

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:33:47 No. 6759815  
>>6759013  
As expected from Oikawa-san’s #1 stalker!

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:33:51 No. 6759816  
Stormtrooper-san is back!  
Were you watching Oikawa’s game?

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:33:59 No. 6759817  
Ahh, Tooru-kun was so cool today!!! (ﾉ´Д｀)ﾉ  
★ＬＯＶＥ T O O R U★

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:33:59 No. 6759817  
Kya!! I know right!!!（●ﾟ∀ﾟ人´∀｀●）

 ** _Anonymous_** 11/23/xx 17:35:01 No. 6759820  
Someone hide this thread before Oikawa’s fangirls take over again!!!  
Please!!!!

 

“Your wrist hurts, doesn’t it?” Oikawa tears his eyes from his phone to look at the owner of the voice. He backspaces the letters he had already typed. “Stop texting, idiot.”

The sunlight washes over his face perfectly, and Oikawa squints his eyes when he cranes his head up to meet Iwaizumi’s eyes. He’s sitting on the third step, his long legs allowing his feet to graze against the grass. Oikawa beams at Iwaizumi apologetically and hides his phone before he could snatch it away. “I wasn’t texting, mom.”

Iwaizumi gives him a growl and a glare, but it didn’t last long. He kneels in front of Oikawa, his expression flat. He speaks drearily, “Give me your hand.”

Oikawa stares confusedly at Iwaizumi’s red palms from all that spiking, then he looks at him, then back to his hands. Iwaizumi sighs hopelessly and doesn’t waste another second. He snatches Oikawa’s right hand by hauling his arm, kneading his thumbs over the painful knots and muscles on his wrist and palms. His serves were extra powerful today, so his wrist really feels like it’s going to fall off. Oikawa wonders how Iwaizumi could know that with one look. He only watches Hajime in surprise, noticing his tight-lipped mouth and his heavy lids.

He sees his nose scrunch. Oikawa can only guess that Iwaizumi probably didn’t like the smell from Oikawa’s hand. He probably doesn’t like Oikawa’s scent. _Period_. The different scents of alphas that clung to his palms might be disturbing him, since he had to shake hands with the members of the other team after the match. Iwaizumi doesn’t notice that he had been massaging his hand too hard, only realizing when Oikawa lets out a small yelp. He mutters a small apology.

The soft “sorry” that came out from Hajime’s mouth did things to his heart. There’s a soothing sensation of warmth that rushes through Oikawa’s brain up to every vein in his body, and he wonders if this feeling has always been here. He’s unsure, but he likes it, Iwaizumi tugging every cramping muscle, taking his heartstrings with it. His touch made the tremble between his fingers stop. _What a sight,_ Oikawa mutters to himself, observing Iwaizumi’s usually rough hands squeezing him so gently.

He leans closer to Iwaizumi’s face to peek at his focused eyes, tipping his head a bit.

Oikawa thinks his green eyes teeming with concentration fit him the most.

“You’re so nice to me today.”

“What?” Iwaizumi asks, brows raised offendedly. “I always do this.”

“No,” he disagrees. Oikawa shakes his head, eyes squinting when his lip curl into a sad smile. “You stopped.” He feels Iwaizumi’s fingers gradually halting. “Iwa-chan stopped doing a lot of things.”

He notices Iwaizumi stiffen a little, but he relaxes right after.

It started when Iwaizumi presented. Oikawa curses that day up until now. It made Iwaizumi more aware, more cautious, his parents telling him that his new status is not something he can ignore. His personality and appearance really didn’t change that much now that Oikawa thinks about it. But from there on, Oikawa started to notice things about him, like how his eye color changes depending on the light that shines through it. They’re kind of hazel, and it shifts between brown, green, and gray. A seven-year-old Oikawa used to compare them to a kaleidoscope.

Naturally, Iwaizumi noticed a lot of little things too, and Oikawa hates that part the most, because every time he does Oikawa is reminded that Iwaizumi can read him like an open book but somehow Oikawa can’t do the same. It’s frustrating. Sure he notices that his freckles is slightly more vivid when he’s sick because his usually sun-kissed skin is suddenly paler, he notices when his shoulders became wider and they flinch when he’s uncomfortable or uneasy, he notices when his mouth purses into a tight-lipped pout whenever he is displeased or disappointed. But no matter how long he stares at his eyes though, he can’t seem to get a hold of what he’s thinking – a perpetual frown plastered on his face covering up whatever it is he’s thinking.

It gets worse as time went on.

Suddenly they’re twelve, then fourteen, then seventeen, and Oikawa feels like Iwaizumi is growing faster than him – not exactly in height, but in everything else. He’s more aware of the whole ‘growing up’ thing now.

“First year of high school.”

Iwaizumi snaps his head back to look at Oikawa’s eyes, tilting his head in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Junko-senpai from class 3-D kept making fun of us,” Oikawa says, simply chuckling at the memory. “I mean, we really didn’t care, but we let her get to us anyway.” He lets the other man knead the pain away, Oikawa watching his thicker and darker hands fondly. “So, you stopped – doing this,” he says, his gaze pointing at their touching hands. “Among other things.”

Iwaizumi presses the muscle between his thumb and forefinger hard, earning a loud “ouch!” from the other boy.

“Oh yeah? Well, Junko-senpai isn’t fucking here anymore.”

A soft laugh tumbles from his curved lips. He tries to decipher the glint in Iwaizumi’s eyes again.

He can’t.

“Right.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The Science and Engineering Library is quiet and compact, resembling the contemporary spaces of their campus, maximizing light and space with its modern design.

Iwaizumi is waiting inside, picking up materials both physical and digital from the library’s extensive catalog. Exams are coming up, and if there’s anything Iwaizumi hated more than exams it’s studying. It’s not his forte. He gets sleepy easily and the information starts coming out of his other ear after several minutes. He looks at the time on his smartphone, clicking his tongue because Oikawa is late.

Standing up from his seat, he decides to leave his things for a while and wait for Oikawa by the entrance.

It really isn’t a surprise when he sees the said man imprisoned by a circle of young women. Iwaizumi laughs to himself because Oikawa stands out so much, his towering figure making him look like a baby giraffe among a herd of gazelles. Amused, Iwaizumi leans on the wall, crossing his arms and observing his friend. There are five girls around him – omegas and betas, mostly. Female omegas never approached alpha athletes like how they approach Oikawa. Maybe Oikawa's aura brings some sort of comfort to them? Because no matter how upright he stood and how high he kept his head up, or how assertive he acted, Oikawa never stood out like an alpha. He plays volleyball like one, but Iwaizumi thinks being an omega suits him – always carrying an air of oversensitivity around him.

Everyone knows by now. News travel fast and rumors about Oikawa Tooru from the volleyball club travel even faster. Iwaizumi didn’t think it was possible, but somehow his admirers doubled, and the entire campus is talking about him. Even Iwaizumi’s buddies from his classes are asking him about Oikawa. Who else is there to ask than his best friend? In the beginning, he didn’t know what to say, then he remembers Oikawa who became more accepting of his status, and even tweeting about it, complaining about the daily hardships of an omega. So he just tells the truth. “Yeah, he’s an omega. You didn’t notice all this time?” he’d say, just to give off that vibe that it really shouldn’t be such a big deal people are making it out to be. His classmates would say they didn’t notice – which, obviously they won’t. Oikawa always wears Iwaizumi’s scent like perfume every day, and takes suppressants like candy.

Their volleyball team was the most accepting, because suddenly everything just made _sense_. Iwaizumi didn’t understand why they were acting so relieved. Thankfully, his upperclassmen are smart and young and modern, and that’s what Iwaizumi liked about them. Whether Oikawa’s a beta or omega, as long as his skills and confidence aren’t affected, they’d like to keep him as the team’s official setter.

Oikawa must’ve seen him from that distance, as he suddenly bids flirtatious goodbyes, making the girls blush in return.

Iwaizumi looks away when Oikawa flashes him a warm smile, apologizing profusely, his hands clasped in front of him. He acts like he doesn’t forgive him and proceeds to go back inside. Oikawa clings to him as expected, grabbing hold of Iwaizumi’s arm, and saying, “Are you mad at me, Iwa-chan” again and again until Iwaizumi replies a forgiving, “No.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“This sucks! I want to play volleyball!”

Iwaizumi kicks his shins from under the table, people turning their heads at the noisy young man.

“Just because you’re a regular again doesn’t mean you can play anytime you want.”

Iwaizumi really isn’t the type of guy who studies in the library, as he usually just skims over his notes at home, or sometimes not at all. It was entirely a surprise for him when he saw Hajime standing by the doorway, dressed in a maroon hoodie and sweatpants, slipping on his black-and-white Nike Air Prestos which he never uses aside from casual occasions.

It was a Saturday morning, and an Oikawa with a ridiculous bedhead and pajamas still on asked where he was going. “Library,” is what Iwaizumi said. He was about to open the door when Oikawa shouted, “Wait! I’ll come with you! I’ll be ready in one minute!”

Iwaizumi didn’t wait, frankly because Oikawa ended up taking more than just a minute. It was almost an hour when Iwaizumi rolled his eyes and told him he’ll just meet him in the library before heading out.

“What made you choose _this_?” Oikawa says, then glances over at the books to emphasize what he’s talking about. He skims over each and every one of them. “Probability Theory? Information Mathematics? Financial Engineering?” he says questionably, almost in a disgusted tone. “I don’t get it. You hate math!”

“Your sister didn’t want to study medicine,” Iwaizumi retorts. “But she ended up liking it, right?”

“My sister is super smart and passes everything,” Oikawa boasts, crossing his arms over his chest. Iwaizumi notices his expression would always brim with pride when he talks about her. “You used to _fail_ math!”

Iwaizumi hopes the heat on his face isn’t that noticeable. “I’m not particularly bad at it!” He keeps his eyes on his textbooks. “Math is – well, you have to study for it, you know? And I was pretty lazy. I didn’t like studying back then.”

Oikawa leans on the table, resting his chin on his palm. “You still don’t.”

He looks at Oikawa for one second, then back to his textbooks.

“Yeah, will this is different.”

Oikawa only hums as a reply, tilting his head to the side even more, blinking at Iwaizumi.

He blinks back.

“So why the hell did you even come here with me if you’re not going to study?”

“To be honest, I was just really curious that Iwa-chan is going out on a Saturday _without me._ ” A loud sigh seeps through his lips, as he places an arm over to where his heart is. “I thought Iwa-chan might have a date and didn’t tell me!”

Iwaizumi quirks one eyebrow. “Why would you even think of that?”

“You met a lot of girls after our match against Tokyo Denki,” Oikawa says casually, fiddling with the pages of one of Iwaizumi’s textbooks and trying not to sound bitter. “Kinda expected at least one girl would catch your eye.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m not like you.”

“How rude,” he replies, eyes narrowing. “I don’t just date any girl!”

“Yet somehow you always manage to get dumped by every single one of them after some time.”

Oikawa gasps, offended, pressing his mouth into a pout. “I’ll have you know that I’m—!”

Oikawa immediately shuts up when the librarian approaches them with angry little footsteps, her index finger on her lips, shushing them and telling them to stay quiet. Iwaizumi stops himself from laughing out loud, pursing his lips hard as he watches Oikawa’s insulted expression. He keeps saying “I wasn’t even _that_ noisy” while proceeding to questions his good looks, because the librarian isn’t affected by his charm at all. He thinks it’s stupid for Oikawa to doubt his appeal, because honestly, he really is quite stunning, and even Iwaizumi admits that. He wouldn’t admit that out loud though. And especially not in front of Oikawa.

It takes one quick look for Iwaizumi to realize.

Oikawa’s like the storm. That’s what Iwaizumi likes to think. Whether he’s playing volleyball, or talking, or just lounging in the apartment, Oikawa is just that; a thunderstorm – loud and merciless as the wild winds, breathing out thunders that catches everyone’s attention. He acts fast, talks fast, moves like lightning. His downpours are strong, but weakens at the slightest rain dance. Iwaizumi is hyperaware of Oikawa and his storms, and he’s the only one not stupid enough to be swept into the chaos that is Oikawa Tooru.

Yet he keeps getting caught up in his hurricane.

“Are you just gonna sit there and watch, dumbass?”

“Yes,” Oikawa replies quickly. “It simply _baffles_ me to see Iwa-chan read so many books all at once. You could be my test subject for my thesis. I mean, your head doesn’t hurt, right? From all that studying?”

“No,” Iwaizumi says dryly. “Get out of here if you’re planning on bothering me the entire day.”

Oikawa cocks his head to the side, a smile curving his lips. “I bet this is the first time you’ve been here.”

“Second, actually. The first time was—”

“Freshman orientation tour?”

Iwaizumi almost laughs.

“Yeah. Freshman orientation tour.”

He doesn’t get any decent studying done for the next thirty minutes. Expectedly, Oikawa never leaves, standing up and sitting back down with books that aren’t even related to their degrees. But he tried to study as well, grabbing a book about biomolecules, then found it unexciting in less than five minutes of flicking through the colorless pages.

Iwaizumi shakes his head and tries to focus, not forgetting the main reason he decided to study in the library. Studying at home with Oikawa roaming around and dusting his scent everywhere would be far too distracting.

“You look like you’re having fun.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t bother to raise his head up at Oikawa. “Time of my fucking life.”

Several silent minutes pass, and Oikawa is getting restless. He couldn’t talk, couldn’t do much, really. Iwaizumi thinks he should take him here more often.

“Iwa-cha—n,” Oikawa drones, face down on the table, arms stretched all over the open textbooks. “Let’s go downtown and actually do something fun.” His back snaps up and glances pointedly around the white, brightly-lit library. “This place is so dull. It’s a Saturday, damn it. Let’s watch a movie or eat or whatever.”

“Then _you_ go,” Iwaizumi says firmly. “Unlike you, my exams start on Monday.”

“Wait, so you won’t come to practice on Monday?” he asks worriedly.

“I’ll be able to if I finish early.” Iwaizumi sighs, closing his textbook.

“You can’t miss practice!” Oikawa almost shouts, banging his hands on the table. He can feel the librarian’s burning gaze behind him. Slumping his shoulder, he schools his voice down. “We have a practice match against Todai on Wednesday. _Tokyo University._ And that shitstain Ushiwaka is playing…!”

Iwaizumi grabs his face – just simply _grabs_ it, squeezing Oikawa’s cheeks with one hand, palm covering his blabbering mouth. In reflex, Oikawa grabs his arm to struggle out from his grip, whining.

“If you want me to be in tiptop shape for the match, be quiet and let me study. The earlier I finish my exams the earlier I’ll get to practice, got it?”

He lets go. Oikawa whines and caresses his cheeks that had turned pink from both Iwaizumi’s pinching and because he was way too close just now.

He’s quiet for the next two hours.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Isn’t he with you?”

Oikawa lifts his chin up to look at Yaku, who’s taller than him only when he’s sitting.

“Uh, who?”

“Iwaizumi,” Yaku replies with a slight emphasis in his voice like it’s supposed to be so obvious. “It’s rare for him to be late.” He places both hands on his hips. “And not together with you.”

“Yeah,” he breathes out, proceeding to tie his shoelaces. “He has exams this afternoon, but he should be finished by now, but I don’t know, he never tells me these things.”

“Well, you should know.” Oikawa snorts at the comment. It has been at least three years since Hajime last sent him a text. He could still pull up that single “buy tofu” text if he wanted to. “Isn’t he your best friend? Go find him before the coach arrives.”

Oikawa sighs in resignation and walks out of the gymnasium.

Iwaizumi isn’t just his best friend. On the other hand, he isn’t more than that either.

They are hard to describe, now that Oikawa thinks about it. It’s strange and pliant – unfolding and alternating between friends and something else entirely, depending on who else is around, how many bottles of beer they drank, what type of movie they’re watching, what time it is. There are several different variables.

Oikawa thinks it’s fine like this.

He thinks it’s okay because they’ve been doing this whole thing ever since they were kids. So he doesn’t see why it has to stop, or why they _should_ stop. It’s only other people who thinks it’s not normal, with their silly ‘friends don’t do that’ or ‘friends don’t treat each other like that’. Oikawa wonders if they really are what people call ‘friends’.

He shakes his head to rid of the thoughts. It really doesn’t matter at this point. Even if it breaks his entire being, he wants to be with him – friends or not-friends. He’ll gladly take the hit.

The air nips at his uncovered arms, Oikawa forgetting to grab a jacket before running out. Hajime should be coming in from the east entrance of the sports complex, near the gym where girl's badminton team trains. Oikawa decides to head there first. He feels something prickling the inside of his nose until he lets out a loud sneeze.

“Uh, it’s cold,” he mutters to himself, tightening his shoulders and covering himself with his arms.

He turns to one corner. His footsteps stops immediately when he hears Iwaizumi’s voice, mixing in with another voice he doesn’t recognize.

In an almost panicked motion, Oikawa backpedals behind the wall before Iwaizumi can notice.

It smells like himself, like an omega.

An ugly pit of acid starts boiling in his stomach when he hears a girl laughing – a voice that’s supposed to sound sweet and innocent fluctuating into loud, horrible static that stirs Oikawa’s brain into a flurry of migraines. The painful tugs from his heart worsen. Because Hajime is laughing too. The same laugh he makes when he teases Oikawa, when they watch silly movies together, the same laugh Oikawa thought he’d be the only one to hear.

There’s a creature eating at his senses, numbing his ears and his skin. Oikawa breathes out a pitiful, laughing sigh, because he’s hiding like a coward and eavesdropping, but he never really understood anything they’re saying. There’s this dark cloud that hazes everything around him and he lets himself be eaten by it.

Oikawa knows that Hajime has always been popular, but in a different sense. He’s well-known, even back in high school, bumping fists and high-fiving with every guy on the corridor, players from different sports clubs trying to recruit him because of his crazy athleticism. Oikawa doesn’t know most of them, and he had zero intention in knowing them. They were from other classes, other clubs, and recently several guys from other departments and buildings seem to be friends with Hajime as well.

He isn’t the type to be chased by girls, or get thousands of chocolates on Valentine’s Day, but whenever a girl falls in love with him, they fall hard. Hajime had a girlfriend once, but he handled it much differently than Oikawa. He remembers her. She was quite memorable. When Oikawa first saw her – pale skin, thin and tall, but still an inch shorter than Hajime, joyful dark eyes, with some foreign blood rising in her cheekbones – Oikawa could tell just by how she looked at Hajime with nothing but love. It was unlike the way girls looked at Oikawa – desire, admiration, impatience. That girl was really in love with Hajime, just as Hajime was in love with her. When graduation came, Hajime found out she was moving to Hokkaido with her parents, and he thought there was very little possibility that their relationship could work, with him being all the way in Miyagi. He was by all means a gentleman when he broke up with her, telling her to find someone who could devote all his time on her in her new city. Because he knew he wouldn’t be able to do that, realized he wasn’t someone who could sacrifice his future and time for one person.

Oikawa had to hide the fact that he was _happy_ when they broke up. At first, Oikawa thought he was envious, because his best friend had a long-time girlfriend and Oikawa could barely keep one for a month. He really was jealous though, he didn’t deny that, but he realizes just now that it was because of a totally different set of reasons.

Hajime is – _Iwaizumi_ is just his friend. Iwaizumi doesn’t owe him anything. And Oikawa doesn’t own him, and it breaks his heart to know he never will.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

"Did you find him?” Yaku asks as soon as Oikawa steps back inside the court.

His heart shakes, but he shakes his head instead, smiling.

“No, sorry.”

Afternoon practice passes by like a blur, Oikawa playing half-heartedly and almost zombie-like that Coach Inoue is beginning to worry that he might’ve caught the flu. Iwaizumi came in a bit later than he had expected, and Oikawa avoided looking into his eyes, scared of what he might say.

“Hey, dumbass, the hell’s wrong with you today?” Iwaizumi asks finally, walking over to Oikawa who is sitting on one corner, knees bent and back against the wall.

“Nothing,” Oikawa replies. He doesn’t look up. “I’m tired.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know it never works.”

Oikawa laughs nervously, flashing him a weary smile. “Just not in the mood today.”

“You keep whining about wanting to play volleyball last weekend and you’re like this now?” Hajime frowns at him, crossing his arms. Oikawa wishes he would frown less when he’s with him. “Your serves are shit, and you barely received any ball… how do you expect to beat Ushijima with that half-ass play?”

Oikawa kind of wishes he’d realize, but knowing Hajime, he most likely won’t, because he’s twenty times denser than the densest element in the periodic table.

His obvious facial expression and unusually quiet demeanor isn’t really that hard to interpret, and Iwaizumi knows somehow that he's troubled. Iwaizumi moves closer and sits down against the wall next to him. Their crossed knees touch. He turns, extending his arms in front of him, hands reaching out like he’s ready to take Oikawa into his embrace.

“Come here,” he orders him.

That’s enough for Oikawa. He doesn’t hesitate and descends into his warmth, caressing his sweat skin with his own. Sliding down, he rests his head on his lap. He should stop. _We should really stop._ But he likes it, this feeling, this familiarity. It amazes him how his worries just _vanish_ the minute he soaks up Iwaizumi’s scent. Oikawa thinks he might as well take advantage of it while Iwaizumi is still here.

Oikawa swears this will be the last time.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Oikawa should really try out for the national team,” Iwaizumi hears one of their upperclassmen say. He listens, their voices mixing with the clanging of the lockers and the shuffling of bags.

Iwaizumi almost chokes on his drink when Tendou drapes an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, Iwaizumi-kun, don’t be too down. You’re gonna have to separate one way or another, right?”

Sugawara and Yaku looks at them both, but watches intently for Iwaizumi’s expression – which remains flat, his eyes and lips unchanging.

“I know that.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It's weird.

It's weird because Oikawa is fast asleep and he isn't choking him with his strong grip, weird because he slides over next to him without throwing his leg over him, weird because he is literally centimeters away from him, cocooned in thick sheets but is curled up facing the other direction.

Worried, but mostly confused, Iwaizumi scoots closer and tries to fill the small space between them, hoping the slightest touch could trigger Oikawa – _trigger what, exactly? –_ and Iwaizumi pulling his blankets closer, because it’s somehow colder and he’s so used to Oikawa’s warm body all over him.

He doesn’t need to know why he’s losing precious hours of sleep over this, with Iwaizumi simply refusing to acknowledge what is exactly is bothering him. But minutes passed and Oikawa is still torturously inches away from him.

Iwaizumi furrows his brows in confused desperation, his head turning to his side to see a sleeping Oikawa, then back to the ceiling, then back to Oikawa’s stupid hair, then back to the ceiling, then back to his stupid fucking hair that looks so soft he wants to touch it. He can't sleep, knowing Oikawa is using (his) pillow, covered in (his) blanket when he can just drown in Iwaizumi’s scent. Iwaizumi is right _next_ to him. It's crazy. Because Iwaizumi can’t tell why this disturbed him so much, why the hair on his arms is sticking out so intensely as if it’s reaching out for Oikawa’s touch. Iwaizumi groans and angrily shifts to the other side, the bed bouncing and creaking as he did so. He tossed and turned until he could find a comfortable position, but the thing is he couldn’t, because his body had naturally decided that the most comfortable position would be Oikawa holding on tight and sleeping next to him with his breath tickling his neck.

It’s not just the nights.

The several mornings that came after are just as strange, affected by the sudden changes in Oikawa’s habits.

When Iwaizumi wakes up one Friday, he finds out that he has no shirts left.

Oikawa’s nesting worsened by _tenfold_.

He usually only nests at night, after school or after dinner, while watching television. Now, he nests at any part of the house, on any part of the day. Iwaizumi roughly pulls out all the drawers, rifling through it with growing frustration. The drawers are all empty, and even the laundry basket was scavenged. In the end, he walks into the living room shirtless, stomach grumbling and searching for breakfast. Oikawa is awake already, watching an early morning horoscope segment. He's surrounded by Iwaizumi's clothes.

"Why do you bother nesting?"

Oikawa blinks at him before staring back at the screen, confused at the question. "It's comforting."

"I mean, you just like my scent, right? Why bother when you have the real thing?"

Oikawa looks very wide eyed at him, then laughs. "Oh, Iwa-chan. Are you still half-asleep?" he says simply, not bothering to answer the question. He throws him a shirt from his nest, commenting that he might catch a cold if he doesn’t cover up anytime soon. “Anyway, it’d be bad if I suddenly go on cold turkey. I’m doing it slow.”

Hajime doesn't get it, and Oikawa never provided any more explanation.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa Tooru is not an idiot.

His hopes are high, but he’s smart enough to keep them small. That’s why he agreed on going to this awful party with Kuroo Tetsurou. The crowd is different, and Oikawa knows no one while people seemed to be very familiar with him. They’re almost certainly wondering what this boy from the Chuo volleyball team is doing there. The small, energetic bar is considered exclusively as a Todai joint, situated advantageously between Kuroo’s university and the Shinobazu pond. Oikawa silently hopes he won’t run into Ushijima, although he’s pretty sure that guy won’t go to sleazy gatherings like this.

“You never agreed to go to these things,” Kuroo says, sliding onto the high chair next to him. He’s always been so perceptive. Oikawa looks away and stares at his untouched bottle of beer. “Are you still mad about us beating you in last week’s practice game? Come on, what’s up?”

“Did you _really_ have to bring up that last game?” Oikawa rolls his eyes. It was a very close match, and maybe if he had trained harder, they would’ve won. He shrugs his shoulders. “Anyway, I have free time. That’s why I came here.”

Kuroo hums in disbelief. “If you say so.” He doesn’t buy it, but he acts like he did. “But can you please lighten up? I like inviting you because you’re fun in parties. Now, you’re just bringing everyone down.”

 “You’ve probably heard, right?” Oikawa asks, apprehensive.

“Heard what?”

“That I’m an omega.”

“Yeah? So? What does it matter? Is that why you’re sulking all night?”

It lightens his heart that Kuroo has no qualms with it, his nonchalance lifting the heavy, smoke-filled air. _He’s so laidback about everything_ , Oikawa ponders, wishing he can be the same, glancing between the shelf of liquor and Kuroo’s expression.

He glances around the dark room, his head throbbing with the loud DJ Snake dance mix resonating throughout the dancefloor. Oikawa doesn’t speak, opens his bottle, and guzzles down the beer in one go. Kuroo watches as he did so, his grin widening at every gulp.

“Why don’t you get me another damn beer, stupid bedhead.”

“Sure.” Kuroo shrugs and gives him an unopened bottle that he had been holding.

“On the house?”

“No.”

“Stingy.”

Oikawa takes a quick sip.

“I heard from Kenma." Kuroo side-eyes him. “Kenma isn't a regular, and he doesn't really care, but he said someone from his team got expelled," Kuroo says, turning his head to flash Oikawa a knowing look. "I’m actually surprised alphas like that still exist in this day and age.”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Oikawa scoffs, rubbing his temples because alphas had been nothing but trouble to him. “They do it because they know omegas eventually give in, you know? Lots of legal issues here. ‘Oh, that omega wasn’t forced’ or ‘that omega was willing in the end’. Alphas can get away with anything. They're awful.” He then looks at Kuroo ruefully. “No offense.”

“None taken. It’s a pretty useful privilege,” he says honestly, ordering a bunch of drinks for both of them. The pretty lady behind the counter nods her head and proceeds to get the appropriate liqueur from the shelves. Kuroo whistles at her retreating back. “Not that I ever take advantage of it, of course.”

His brown eyes soften at him, grateful that Kuroo isn’t that kind of alpha.

“This is the worst possible place to drown my sorrows,” Oikawa says, the small alcohol content from the local beer allowing him to open up a bit.

“I’m gonna take a quick guess here,” Kuroo starts, shoving a shot of something into Oikawa’s now empty hands. The other man stays silent, a sign Kuroo should continue. “It’s Iwaizumi Hajime-kun.” Oikawa’s eyes sparks within a millisecond, but alas, the man with the cat-like eyes catches that small reaction and grins. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

Oikawa narrows his eyes and drinks whatever it is inside that illegally tall shot glass. He licks his lips a couple of times to recover from the heat running down his throat. “You’re terrible. And this drink is terrible.”

“It’s not,” Kuroo insists, not denying the first statement. “Tomoe-chan here makes the best drinks.” Oikawa looks over to the woman in question. He thinks the bartender is pretty, her skin a little tan, a thick winged eyeliner shaping her eyelids when she winks at him. “Anyway, don’t try to get out of this one. You can tell Kuroo-san anything.”

“I trust you won’t tell anyone?”

“I’m afraid I can’t promise you that,” Kuroo says. “I’m obliged to tell Kenma. It’s part of our pact.”

Oikawa frowns at him, but there’s literally no one else he can talk to without them telling Iwaizumi. He’s not drunk enough to tell Kuroo everything though. He’s going to save the stories for later. “I came here to your shitty party to drink, not to cry and lean on your shoulder.”

Kuroo snickers mockingly. “You’ve been _crying_?”

“No—! I don’t—just – just shut up and get Tomoe-chan to make me an actual drink.”

“Easy,” he says, looking almost proud. He calls the bartender and whispers something to her. Oikawa watches them suspiciously. “If you’re not face down drunk on the counter within the next hour it means we have failed you.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

If there’s one thing Oikawa can remember about this night, it’s Tomoe-chan and her delicious, treacherous cocktails.

It’s loud and hot, the place smelling more like hormones than sweat and booze. Kuroo didn’t abandon him when he expected him to. He listened. Even though he migrated to the dance floor earlier, he came back, bringing two drinks, free-of-charge from alphas who had been eyeing Oikawa.

“Didn’t it occur to you that _maybe_ he sees you that way, too?” Kuroo props his elbow on the bar, resting the side of his head on his hand. He’s trying hard to stay awake, his voice coming out more incomprehensible than it already is.

Face down on the counter just as Kuroo promised, Oikawa scoffs. He turns his head to look at the other guy, sliding his face on the varnished surface of the bar. “Right. Because after _all_ these years, you’d think he’d tell me by now.” He lets out a long, droning whine, a sound he makes when he’s about to cry. “Well, he doesn’t! He sees me as his omega friend who can’t take care of himself!”

Oikawa wants to cry. The drinks are taking a toll on him, because the club is brighter and his vision is spinning.

“But guess what?” he says in between sniffs and loud electronic music. He sits up dizzily, stopping to drink one shot of blue—well, _something_. He doesn’t really care what Tomoe-chan is giving him at this point. “I’m willing to accept that. I’d rather stay as normal friends than lose him completely.”

Kuroo laughs at him, rubbing a hand on his temples.

“You guys aren’t normal friends at all. After saying you scent mark each other and sleep together—”

“Sleep together as in, _sleep together,_ with the sleep part meaning unconscious, and the together part meaning beside each other on the same bed.”

“Sure, and you’re gonna say that it’s _totally_ in a platonic way.”

“Yes, it _is_ completely platonic!” Oikawa slams his fist on the bar, then his brows scrunched wretchedly, realizing maybe it was only Iwaizumi who thinks everything is platonic. He heaves out a sigh and smiles wistfully at the empty shot glass he’s holding. “We’ve been doing it since we were kids.”

Kuroo stares at him, eyes serious, although heavy-lidded from the booze.

“You’re not kids anymore.”

Oikawa waits, a painful, burning sensation rising out of his chest.

“Things back then don’t mean the same things today.”

Oikawa isn’t sure whether to be surprised at Kuroo’s serious answer or at the fact that he had been overlooking that one simple fact for several years now.

“You sound like Iwa-chan and it’s annoying.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s while making out with a relatively good-looking alpha when Oikawa finally comes to a conclusion that he’s going to die alone.

He’s kissing someone, but it doesn’t feel good. Oikawa can’t bring himself to enjoy it because all he can think about is this man’s scent – and it’s not a very good one. The aftershave he’s wearing doesn’t help at all. His scent is almost piercing, and it stings the insides of his nose as if he’s inhaling smoke from an old vehicle. He pushes him away.

“Something wrong, Tooru?” Hiroya – _or was it Hiromu?_ – asks him, his hands sliding to his back.

“Don’t call me that,” Oikawa hisses, glaring at him. He shakes his head. “I have to go.”

Oikawa slides off the high seat and runs to the bathroom immediately.

He gags. Nothing comes out at first – just saliva and regret. With both hands grasping the side of the sink, his stomach threatens to push out a pile of acid this time, throat burning when he hurls a mixture of alcohol and nachos and shame on the porcelain surface. Oikawa grunts and sniffs at the terrible feeling. He turns the sink on to remove the evidence.

“What am I doing?” he tells himself. He gurgles cold water and washes his face. His reflection looks terrible. Maybe he needs more than just alcohol to be able to bypass the horrible aromas of the wandering alphas among the girls wearing bunny ears that light up and sexy Santa suits just because it’s the first day of December.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Tooru, you idiot!” Hajime yelled out, almost dropping his cone of ice cream. His chubby cheeks were red and his arm covered his mouth.

“Why? Don’t you love me Hajime-chan?” a young Tooru asked, big round eyes threatening to tear up.

Hajime immediately consoles him. “Hah? Of course I do!” He shouted out, proudly and without any hint of hesitation. “Who else did you do that with?”

“Just you! You’re the first!” Tooru beamed him a toothy smile, happy and giddy. “My big sister says if you love someone you have to kiss them!”

Hajime crosses his arms in front of him. “It’s okay if it’s me, but don’t do it to anyone else.”

Tooru tilts his head. He doesn’t get it, but if Hajime says he shouldn’t, he probably shouldn’t.

“Okay!”

 

Oikawa wakes up from his drunken daydream – that certain memory playing in the back of his mind when this alpha in front of him asked if this is his first kiss. Oikawa says it isn’t. His date seems disappointed – just like all the other companions he tried making out with.

Lately, Oikawa had been agreeing to go to parties and clubs. Kuroo is honestly surprised, but at the same time worried, inviting him less and less because he notices the more he invites him the more he gets wasted.

“Been looking for you everywhere, man,” Kuroo shouts against the loud music, casually shoving Oikawa’s companion of the hour away. “To think a tall asshole like you can disappear so easily in the crowd.” He leads a dazed Oikawa to another corner, giving him a bottle of water as soon as Oikawa flops down on an empty loveseat.

He isn’t sure how many shots of Patron he already drowned himself in, because most of the time Oikawa kept trying to find an alpha who doesn’t smell like a fucking garbage truck. Finding an alpha wasn’t hard to do, as most of the alphas, men and women, seemed to be really in to it. Finding an alpha who doesn’t smell like a garbage truck is different story altogether.

“Are you jealous?”

Oikawa raises a brow. “Jealous of who?”

“I didn’t say you were jealous of _someone_. Be a little careful next time, Oikawa.”

He glares at Kuroo’s deceiving eyes. “I’m not,” Oikawa says confidently. “I’m fully aware that I can’t have what others can have.”

“People tell me they’re never jealous because they really don’t see it,” Kuroo says, sipping lukewarm beer from a cup he had been holding the entire night. “You’re so poisoned you think it’s normal. Yet you wallow in it, bitter and angry, getting drunk and hooking up with random people like an idiot.” Oikawa stays quiet and frowns at him. “Or am I wrong?”

Oikawa feels his heart clench.

“I’m more shocked that you’re actually making sense for once.”

“What the hell do you think I’m in Todai for? They’ve been shoving this psychology bullshit down my throat for the past year.”

Kuroo finishes the beer and throws the cup on the sticky floor. His gaze draws over to Oikawa, who is quiet and sobering up, hopefully. A choked sound escapes from Oikawa’s throat, and Kuroo snaps his attention back to him.

“I need to fall for someone else.”

He looks down to see a crying Oikawa.

“But I can’t—” Oikawa’s voice breaks. “I can’t because it’s like my nose is fucking _damaged_ or something and you and every single fucking person in here smells like _shit._ ”

Oikawa covers his face with his hands, rubbing his puffy eyes from time to time. Kuroo lays a careful hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t shove his hand off, and Kuroo thinks it’s a good sign, maybe, because honestly he’s not very good at comforting friends, although he does try. “Oikawa, you should go home. I’ll take you there. How about it?”

“No,” Oikawa mutters. He repeats it, more sternly this time. “No. I can’t. Not now.”

If he goes home at this state, Hajime will be mad at him for drinking too much and for smelling like booze and vomit. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want him to frown at him, or shout at him, or hit him. He wants him to laugh – just like how he laughed with that girl before. He wants him to only laugh and smile when he’s with him.

Nesting isn’t just cutting it anymore.

Because his nest is everything he loves about him. His shirts and jackets still possessed that lingering perfume of Iwaizumi’s favorite body gels that reminds him of his bronze skin and his comforting touch, his towels with shaving cream still on it that makes him think of his sharp jaw and the short stalks of his occasional morning stubbles. Oikawa loves everything about him – his stupid spiky hair, his stupid goofy smile he rarely shows but when he does it’s like the world could stop, and his scent; his lovely, thick musk. He could smell every chemical that unshackles from his olive skin, like the stick deodorant Hajime likes using, and how it mingled with his scent so, so perfectly.

Oikawa goes from silent tears to gasping sobs, knowing he won’t be able to see or hear or smell those things one day, and that he won’t be the only one who’s in love with every little detail in Hajime’s life. And he knows he won’t be able to sleep next to him in the future, won’t be able to bask in his presence at some point of their lives.

“I have to get used to someone else.”

Maybe that’s the only way to get out of this heartache.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Where exactly are you taking me?” Iwaizumi asks, watching his visible breath disappear into the night. He tugs his parka closer when an icy breeze passes.

“There’s a club not far from here,” Hanamaki says, flashing him a grin. “No need for guest lists and all the crap. My friend literally  _owns_ the place.”

Iwaizumi thinks he should ditch Hanamaki and run off to his apartment, pull up his warmest blankets and drink gin by himself. But they haven’t seen each other in so long so he’s willing to let Hanamaki drag him to wherever.

“It’s right here,” he says, walking down a suspicious flight of stairs. Iwaizumi inspects the narrow pathway with posters and graffiti on both sides of the wall. He squints his eyes at Hanamaki’s back, stopping himself from just turning away.

Iwaizumi hates any place that’s loud and dark. His senses get filled with an assortment of unattractive odors and blinding neon lights that flash fast enough so people can see where the hell they’re going. It’s almost pitch black except for the glowing decorations by the bar and the epileptic flickers of pink and green and blue. He sees Hanamaki high-fiving the DJ, introducing him shortly to Iwaizumi, and he tries to act like he cares, mainly because Hanamaki’s friend seems like a pretty cool guy and Iwaizumi doesn’t want to be a killjoy.

“Hey, come on, let’s go get you a drink,” Hanamaki offers, steering him through the crowd.

“I still don’t get why we’re here,” Iwaizumi says. He’s starting to get bored despite the throbbing bass from the music ringing through his eardrums. “I would’ve settled for fast food.”

“You’ve been extra grumpy, that’s why,” Hanamaki says, then proceeds to shout through the music to order from the bartender. “Thought you might need to loosen up instead of getting drunk on Tanqueray alone in your apartment.”

“How did you even – Oikawa told you, didn’t he?”

“Of course, he did.” Hanamaki flashes him that strange grin again. “He tells me a lot of things.”

Iwaizumi looks at him suspiciously before he gets dragged down to sit on one of the high chairs. Their drinks came up, the bartender sliding bottles of imported beer to them. It’s getting hotter and Iwaizumi takes off his jacket.

“How’s life with Oikawa?” Hanamaki asks, gulping down beer until the bottle is half-empty.

“What do you mean? It’s the same as always.”

“Same as always,” he repeats. “Sure, okay.”

Iwaizumi takes a swig as well. The drinks are free anyway, so he might as well cherish it.

“You don’t think about moving?”

“Move? Why would I?”

“Well,” Hanamaki starts, eyes up in thought. “I figured it’s not going to be easy now that Oikawa is… well, you know exactly what Oikawa is.” He drinks again, sighing in delight right after. “It’s not exactly a healthy lifestyle.”

“I’m not a fucking animal, Hanamaki.” Iwaizumi scowls at him before taking several gulps of beer.

“You alphas might as well be,” the other jokes, taking off his jacket when he feels himself sweating. “Seriously though, if you were living in my apartment, the landlady won’t allow you guys to live together.”

“We’re fine as it is,” Iwaizumi insists, noticing that he had just emptied out a bottle.

Hanamaki doesn’t hesitate to hand him another one.

It’s really been a while, Iwaizumi realizes. The first bar he went to was a small, upbeat little place in Roppongi. He was with Oikawa. It was their first year in college, and Oikawa demanded they go somewhere to drink because “we’re university students now!” and somehow that meant getting pissed drunk in the middle of a city they weren’t familiar with.

Iwaizumi smiles a bit at the memory and tries to focus back on Hanamaki’s blabbering.

His eyes scan the thick crowd in the dark room, his nose recognizing the familiar tangerine scent he’d memorized ever since he was a kid. But there are other aromas mixed in – scents that make Iwaizumi’s figurative fangs come out.

It doesn’t take too long before his vision lands on Oikawa across the room.

He’s sure it’s him. He’s always sure.

Hanamaki doesn’t notice because Iwaizumi had moved so fast.

There’s a guy sitting beside him – a bit too close, Iwaizumi thinks, until the lights flash a second longer than usual and he sees that he’s kissing Oikawa. His initial reaction is to claw the man’s eyes out, but he sees Oikawa leaning in, smiling, eye closed, pale fingers wrapped around the other’s neck.

The music dies down in Iwaizumi’s ears, his surroundings suddenly in slow motion, and he takes a few steps back. There's something rumbling inside his chest, something sitting heavy in his stomach that makes every inch of his brain buzz with white noise.

But he bites his tongue, gulps down the obstruction in his throat, then treads back to Hanamaki in a daze, telling him after he’s not feeling well, and that he’ll treat him the next time they meet.

Iwaizumi leaves like a tide that reels away, footsteps heavy and heart racing in an unsteady beat.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“I’m sorry. I can’t—” Oikawa says, pulling away. This man’s scent isn’t good, just like the others. It’s making him nauseous.

“Want another drink then?”

Oikawa shakes his head, laughing apologetically. He places a hand on his chest and shoves him away before he barfs right in front of him.

“N-No. I’m feeling a bit dizzy. I’m sorry. I have to go. I’m really sorry.”

  

☆ ☆ ☆

 

When Iwaizumi comes home drunk for the first time, with a diverse array of scents clinging to his clothes, Oikawa immediately _knew._ He sniffs the air again, and Iwaizumi drops face down on the couch.

“Welcome back,” Oikawa says wryly, poignant eyes treading over to Iwaizumi’s figure before focusing back on the movie he's watching. “So, who was it?”

Iwaizumi turns his head slightly to face Oikawa, whose eyes are glued to the screen.

“What?” he asks, voice raspy and weak.

Oikawa can tell it was a scent of an omega that's sticking to Hajime's clothes. He acts curious and witty so the sharp pain in his heart doesn't show. “You’re telling me I can’t tell whether my best friend got laid or not?”

“We didn't—" He stops suddenly, inhaling deeply. "We didn't do anything." Then another silence. Oikawa hums in reply, forcing his eyes to focus on the movie. He bites his lips, begrudgingly swallowing the painful lump in his throat. When will Hajime stop lying he wonders? He never lies to him. "I just got dragged to some party by Hanamaki again.”

Oikawa doesn't realize he's blinking too much. "Really."

Ten awkward seconds later, Hajime gives in.

“It’s just one time.”

Oikawa doesn’t say anything else.

But on the next night, Iwaizumi comes home with the same smell and Oikawa thinks nothing of it, or at least tried to. He throws in a few teasing remarks here and there so his bitterness won’t be too obvious.

The third time Iwaizumi barges in to their apartment, he is stumbling and Oikawa can smell the _same_ _fucking scent_ on him and it makes him want to pull his hairs out – or pull someone’s hair out to be more precise.

 _I thought it’s a one-time thing,_ Oikawa thinks as his friend goes to his usual spot on the couch.

“Iwa-chan, can you _please_ not be near me right now and take a damn bath? You smell _disgusting_.”

His voice is poisonous. Iwaizumi probably could tell, but that’s exactly what Oikawa wants.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s the weekend and Oikawa sleeps early for once. Although he had grown accustomed to Friday night parties, he turned down an invitation from Matsukawa, because he could just tell Hanamaki had invited Hajime to the same place, and he doesn’t want to end up crossing paths with Iwaizumi while he’s drunk and possibly crying about him. He also turned down Kuroo’s offer to treat him to a new bar in Akasaka. Oikawa has had enough drunken nights of nothing but crying about being replaced and hooking up with alphas then end up vomiting because their kisses literally feel like eating a pile of horseshit.

It’s one of the very few nights where Oikawa sleeps before midnight, so he frowns when he is roused from his healthy sleep cycle by the ringing of his phone. He ignores it the first time. Oikawa throws a pillow of his head. It doesn’t stop though, and he gives in.

“Oikawa, you there?”

He hears Hanamaki’s voice on the other line, hiding beneath Iwaizumi’s number. Oikawa groans and checks the time. One-thirty. Then he checks the other bed if Iwaizumi is already there before replying.

“Yeah?”

“Didn’t wake you up right? It’s way too early for you to be asleep at this time.”

Oikawa groans, lifting himself up on his sides, propping an elbow. “Nope, it’s fine, what’s up?”

“Can you pick up Iwaizumi? I’d take him back to my place but my roommate hates it when I bring in strangers at this hour, and I kinda don’t know where you guys live, so…” Hanamaki trails off on purpose. He doesn’t wait for Oikawa’s reply. “I’ll text you the address now. Thanks, man!”

Oikawa’s lips twitch when the man hangs up. He receives a text message a few seconds later just as Hanamaki promised.

Oikawa doesn’t waste a second as he grabs a coat and heads out, sleep still in his eyes.

“Great,” he mutters, stopping immediately.

It’s raining.

It’s the middle of a supposedly dry December and it’s raining.

Oikawa tries to head back in to get an umbrella and a waterproof coat, and then realizes that he couldn’t.

The door’s locked and he forgot his keys inside.

“No way,” Oikawa says in disbelief, rattling the doorknob until he gives up and smacks his forehead on the door. “You have _got_ to be kidding me.”

Iwaizumi has a key, he remembers. Oikawa sighs loudly, his shoulder slumping. There’s really no workaround for this. Oikawa shivers against the cold wind and the icy drops of the rain, running from of the cozy residential lane up until the main street to hail a taxi.

The address Hanamaki sent him is a bit hard to find – even the taxi driver doesn’t know where it is. The rain didn’t do much help, blurring the signs and neon lights along the narrow, confusing roads of Shibuya. It’s a good thing the night club has a huge, glowing sign in front of the building, so Oikawa doesn’t miss it.

The outside interior is metallic and it’s hard to miss, the lights reflecting on the silver outdoor paneling like lasers. Oikawa goes in with ease. There aren’t any crowds outside anymore, and they’ve forgotten about the guest list at this time of the night.

Hanamaki finds him first.

“Makki, you look awful,” Oikawa comments, laughing a bit. Hanamaki nods because he’s very aware. “Is Iwa-chan okay?”

“If I say no, please don’t panic.” Hanamaki clasps his hands in front of him like he’s praying for forgiveness. “Oikawa, oh man, I know it’s my fault, shit – he’s, well, he got into a fight, and I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I teased him too much and—”

“Don’t be,” he cuts off. Oikawa swallows nervously after, the loud music drumming in his ears worsening the rising unease in his heart. “Just tell me where he is.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi leans on the sink, his nose bleeding when Oikawa comes into the private bathroom.

His bloodshot eyes wince in surprise when he sees Oikawa, dripping wet, his hair flat and his features pale. Oikawa approaches him and wonders if he’s already sober.

“You’re… gonna… catch a cold... stupid...”

Oikawa laughs, placing a hand behind his back. How is it possible that he still thinks of Oikawa at his current state? “You’re the stupid one, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi keeps mumbling incomprehensibly, and Oikawa can’t understand. There’s a gagging sound and Iwaizumi leans closer to the sink counter. Nope. Definitely not sober yet. Oikawa sighs and rubs his back, looking away because he feels like he’s going to gag too just by the sounds alone. He hears Iwaizumi curse in between his heavy breathing and spitting.

“You’re a mess,” Oikawa says, moving over to his side to help him wash the blood and vomit off his face. It’s not very often that he’d get a chance to take care of Iwaizumi. His heart flutters at the thought. “I’m such a bad friend,” Oikawa mutters out loud, laughing to himself because of his selfish thoughts. But Iwaizumi is wasted as shit. There's very little chance that he'll remember what Oikawa is saying.

Iwaizumi’s legs give out and he drops on the floor, taking Oikawa with him, who was unprepared to carry his entire body weight. Reflexively, Oikawa embraces him like how Iwaizumi would wrap his arms around him when he's restless and insecure. The drunken man lets his head limp on Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa shakes his head when he feels his face flush. This really isn’t the time.

“Come on, stand up,” Oikawa grunts as he drapes the man’s arm around his shoulder to lift Iwaizumi up. “We have to go home, Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi treads clumsily, but he seems to be able to walk, thank god. Oikawa doesn’t believe he can carry this mass of muscles by himself. “I sure hope you have our apartment keys with you.”

Then they’re outside, passing time under a bus stop, waiting for the downpour to stop, and waiting for buses that won’t come.

Oikawa sighs worriedly when there aren’t any cabs passing by. It’s freezing cold and the only way he could get a cab is to walk down to the main road. He puts his hands on his hips and decides to wait for the rain to stop, spinning around to stare at Iwaizumi who had fallen asleep, sitting and resting his head on the glass panel. Oikawa smiles at the view. He looks so vulnerable like this. It’s so unlike Iwaizumi to get wasted like that, and it irks him. Oikawa doesn’t realize he is much worse than him, defending himself by saying he’s heartbroken and suffering from an unrequited love.

He bends his knees in front of him, arms on his knees, lolling his head to the side to examine Hajime’s face. His nose doesn’t appear to be broken, but it’s bruising, and there’s a trace of dry blood under his nostrils. Oikawa wipes it with his wet sleeve.

“Oikawa,” he says, waking up from his nap. Oikawa meets his dark eyes.

“Are you sober yet?” Oikawa asks, standing up from his position. “Can you walk?”

Iwaizumi groans, his palm on his temples then to his wounded nose. “Yeah.”

For a long while there's only silence, aside from the ceaseless sound of the rain tapping the shed's roof and the pavement, as well as the thunder that bellows frequently in the background.

“I’ve always thought Iwa-chan isn't the kind to get wasted,” Oikawa tells him, looking up at the pitch black sky. Lightning flashes. “You’ve always handled your liquor well.” Iwaizumi doesn’t speak, only frowning up at him and massaging his aching head. “I hate it,” Oikawa admits, his voice upset and deeper than usual. There's a small laugh between his visible breaths, walking a few steps around so Iwaizumi can see his irritated expression. “Iwa-chan doesn’t go to college parties and punches people in the face for no reason.”

Iwaizumi's brows draw down, sharp eyes glaring at Oikawa. “Well, you’re not the only one who can fool around.”

“But I always fool around,” he replies, his hands tightening into fists. Oikawa doesn’t like where this is going. “And you know that. You never had a problem with me going out.”

“Yeah, I let you whore it up every night but you’re telling me you hate it when I _go_ to parties?” Iwaizumi taunts. His tone is dark and threatening, and it’s making Oikawa nervous, making his shoulders draw closer and his gaze to drop down involuntarily. Iwaizumi almost growls, voice louder. “That seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?”

His words made his heart crack.

“Is that what you think of me?” Oikawa feels something blocking his throat. There’s a sting behind his eyes too, because Iwaizumi is not entirely wrong. “Iwa-chan—”

“Don’t—” Iwaizumi leaps from his seat, gripping Oikawa’s coat by the collar. “—fucking call me that! We’re not kids anymore! Call your alpha fuckbuddies with funny nicknames, but don’t put me in the same level as them!”

Oikawa’s breath hitches, eyes wide as the shrouded moon. _It’s just the alcohol_ , he keeps reassuring himself. _He doesn’t know what he’s doing._ He feels his hands shaking. Suddenly all he sees is the red glint in Iwaizumi’s eyes. Everything else blurs. The loud, repetitive sound of the rain hitting the shed and the asphalt is gone.

He’s scary.

Iwaizumi is scaring him.

The words sting. They sting because it isn’t true and he doesn’t know how to tell Hajime without him biting his throat out. Oikawa’s frozen into place, by the cold, by Iwaizumi’s chilling predatory eyes, by the hand grabbing his coat. So he forces some mimic on what he should have been doing: a smile – pompous and loose.

“I didn’t know your brain is this primitive,” Oikawa snarls back, fighting back the instinctive fear sitting in the back of this throat. “Is this how you see me?” He blinks his eyes fast several times, because the stinging behind his eyeballs doesn’t stop, and his voice is cracking tragically. “You think _I’m_ the one sleeping around when _you’re_ the one smelling like a garbage dump of omegas in heat?” His cold, blue hands grasp Iwaizumi’s fist. The beads of water on his hair falls to his face, along with fresh tears that threatened to fall from the very start. “I’ve _never_ slept with anyone! You know why? Because every alpha, every beta, any living, _breathing_ person who hits on me smells like absolute _shit_ for some reason! They make me _sick_ , and their scent makes me want to fucking vomit!”

A sob breaks free.

“But you – your scent, your presence, your voice—it makes me feel at ease, and just by being near you, I - I feel like I can endure anything.”

Oikawa shoves him off just as Iwaizumi lets go, his eyes shifting back into that warm green. He blinks and the red drains from his vision, the drunken fury falling along with his stature. He must’ve sensed the fear, the erratic heartbeat, the color draining away from Oikawa’s face. Iwaizumi knows. The clear beads flowing down his cheeks aren’t from the rain, they’re tears, and it’s not stopping. Oikawa is rigid, shaking against his wet clothes.

Iwaizumi hears his frightened heartbeat.

And it’s Iwaizumi’s fault.

The guilt that starts to run in Iwaizumi’s veins is like gasoline, Oikawa thinks. He can sense the toxicity in Iwaizumi’s rueful eyes, can smell the burning realization that’s killing him from the inside.

“I-I’m sorry, Oikawa, I didn’t—”

“What? What is it, _Hajime_?” Oikawa asks spitefully. He scoffs at him, shaking his head, lips quivering into a pained smile. “Do you really mean that? Because saying ‘sorry’ doesn’t quite fit that _alpha_ voice of yours!”

And that’s when Iwaizumi dispels Oikawa’s anger and wraps his arms around him. Oikawa stiffens in response. It isn’t the embrace of someone longing for attention, not that arms of a mother trying to keep her baby safe, not the arms of a childhood friend who used to kiss the pain on his bruised knees away. _It’s different_ , Oikawa keeps thinking. _It feels so different._ He feels Hajime’s arm tighten around his waist, and another circling his back, a warm hand running behind his rain-soaked hair as he hears soft apologies over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” Iwaizumi says for the last time.

In return, Oikawa throws himself at Iwaizumi like a moth to a flame – feeling more like a suicide mission than an act of affection. He squeezes him back, not wanting the moment to end. He presses his face into Iwaizumi’s shoulder and clutched the fabric of his jacket. The world melts despite the shivering winds and the endless rain. And he thinks, maybe this isn’t right, maybe their lives aren’t supposed to collide like this.

“Iwa-chan, whatever this is,” he says, voice strained and in pain. Oikawa breathes out a small, pitiful laugh against Iwaizumi’s skin. “Maybe we should stop.”

Oikawa pulls away first – it’s the first time he does.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The next few days are kind of dull, if Oikawa had to be honest.

He spends most of his time in the living room, sleeping there on some occasions because Oikawa is scared he might sleepwalk onto Iwaizumi’s bed. Oikawa cleans up his messes, nesting only when he knows his friend won’t be around. Outside of the apartment, they’re their usual selves, perfectly in sync during practice – without the excessive touching and scent marking. Sugawara seems to notice that the air is offbeat, even going as far as asking Oikawa about it. He replies to him with a smile and assures him that it's not something he should worry about.

Iwaizumi kept to himself ever since. They hardly talk to each other. Well, they do  _talk_ but it feels strange, almost like it’s forced, and Oikawa couldn’t help but flinch whenever Iwaizumi decides to speak to him.

Oikawa would sometimes wake up with sticky notes on the fridge, or the stove, or the bathroom wall. That’s how Iwaizumi talks to him now. 'I cooked breakfast' and 'out of toothpaste' and sometimes 'eat something idiot'. The little notes make him smile, but Oikawa prefers Iwaizumi saying these sweet, mundane things with his harsh voice. He'd wake up in an empty kitchen and an empty living room, making him realize how lonely it is. Iwaizumi’s classes start at seven, and has to leave much earlier. Usually, Oikawa would wake up with him, but the cold weather and the awkward morning silences made it much harder to do.

But this morning should be interesting.

The one who wakes up first is Oikawa. He has a class at seven. Iwaizumi has a class at seven too.

He curses his professor who keeps missing class, because now they have to attend extra classes to catch up to the syllabus. Oikawa doesn’t grab breakfast as usual, deciding to drop by a 7-11 on the way to school. He doesn’t cook breakfast, never really wants to try anymore, and just drinks a glass of milk, thinking it can fool his stomach.

“You should eat.”

Oikawa almost chokes on his milk, hastily wiping the liquid that dribbled down his chin.

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. I’ll buy something on the way.”

“You better.”

He relaxes his shoulders as soon as Hajime disappears into the bathroom. Oikawa finds it as an excuse to let out a loud, frustrated sigh. Why are they acting like freshmen who had just met their new roommate? He hates this. As the sun begins to shine a little brighter, Oikawa proceeds to dress up.

Iwaizumi comes in as the door to their room creaks.

“Here,” he says, offering his jacket. Oikawa could tell it’s soaked with his scent. “It’s your heat cycle, right?”

Oikawa stares at the jacket with hostility. It’s Iwaizumi’s university hoodie with his last name on the back, along with the Sciences and Engineering logo. It’s dark blue.

“No thanks, Iwa-chan. It doesn’t go with my outfit today.”

There’s no hint of affection when he says his name. He could feel Iwaizumi’s gaze burning through his skin because he can probably tell that his voice is distant. It’s his turn to disappear into the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet woefully. He gets the familiar white pill bottle.

Oikawa learns his suppressants are also dark blue.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

There’s no word to describe the days of simply watching Iwaizumi cook and scowl and pad around the house. In a sense, they did become ‘normal’ friends, which Oikawa learns is not something they were from the very beginning. He wonders how he could restore that _normalcy_ from before – their own version of friendship.

 

 **Hajime Iwa-chan ✌️**  
_090-4886-39xx_  
call me if you need something, ok?  
_07:43 AM_

 

It's funny because it's Iwaizumi's first text to him this year.

He glances back to the whiteboard, taking off his fake glasses so he could see better. Iwaizumi is always like this when his heat cycle starts – worried, paranoid, almost like his mother. He feels guilty somehow. With a sigh, he leans forward, resting his chin on the pit of his folded arms. Oikawa glares absently at Professor Perfect Attendance. If this guy wasn’t so lazy they wouldn’t have to attend the earliest class possible.

Oikawa puts his attention back to his phone. He doesn’t reply to the message. He doesn’t call. And he doesn’t have to. Shuffling through his bag, he pops another suppressant into his mouth to make sure he will feel absolutely _nothing –_ except maybe for an imminent headache later in the day.

But that’s fine. It’ll be just a headache.

He can’t keep relying on Iwaizumi forever.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi arrives at their apartment with a bag of expensive Christmas-themed milk bread to lighten up Oikawa’s mood. He feels pretty proud. It even has a cute packaging on it, with small Christmas trees and golden little stars – things Oikawa likes.

He can tell from the moment he takes off his shoes that Oikawa is home.

The television is on – another sci-fi movie playing based on the screams and the sound effects Iwaizumi is hearing. The sound is low, however, and not the usual loud, floor-thumping volume Oikawa prefers. Now it’s just a comforting background noise, and somehow Iwaizumi finds it odd.

Iwaizumi freezes in surprise as soon as he enters the living room. Oikawa is nowhere to be found, but all his clothes are scattered on the floor. It’s not the usual oval shape with some kind of pit in the middle kind of nest. His clothes and blankets and pillows are literally all over the place.

“Oikawa! At least put my clothes back after you nested! I swear if you—”

Iwaizumi stops when he steps on a cold puddle of water coming from the bathroom.

“Oikawa?” he says through the door. He rattles the handle. It doesn't budge, and it's cold to the touch.

Iwaizumi worriedly knocks on the locked door several times. “Oikawa? Open up, are you okay in there?”

No one answers. His heart and his hands begin to shake in worry as he knocks even more loudly, shouting Oikawa's name. He throws himself at the locked door in attempt to break it open. Oikawa still doesn't respond, so he rams the side of his head against the door. He hears running water from the inside, and he hears breathing. It’s faint, as well as the fast heartbeat that came with it.

“Oikawa!”

The doorknob hangs from its socket when Iwaizumi comes barging in.

Reality is slipping away from Oikawa, breathing like there’s an invisible hand clasped over his mouth, desperately trying to suck in air. Iwaizumi runs to his naked figure, drenched in a tub of ice cold water. He stops the water from flowing and carries Oikawa away from the cold. Iwaizumi doesn’t care that he’s getting wet or that there’s literally a visible white mist coming out from Oikawa’s skin because of how cold it is.

He wraps his shaking figure with a towel, with a blanket, with everything he could fucking find inside the house. Oikawa couldn’t breathe and he’s clutching his chest like he wants to rip his heart out. He thrashes against Iwaizumi’s embrace, eyes squeezed shut.

Then he hears his heartbeat.

It’s fast.

Fatally fast.

That’s when Iwaizumi calls their landlady who lives downstairs. He remembers that the old Civic parked outside their apartment belongs to her.

He then begs her to drive them to the hospital.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi is about to pass out from anxiety when the nurse tells him Oikawa is now stable and that they’ll be able to transfer him to a private room.

When they arrived, the nurses who caught sight of them hurried to put Oikawa on the gurney covered in white cotton sheets that was just as pale as Oikawa. His heart clenched painfully in his chest as he watched the bed wheeled out of his view.

If it weren’t for their softhearted, worldly landlady named Murakami-san who stayed with him in the emergency room, Iwaizumi would’ve gone crazy. The staff weren’t telling him anything, too busy darting around the insipid hallways with purposeful haste, keeping him from seeing Oikawa. The waiting area next to the wards has a small television hanging on one corner and has cushioned chairs that are screwed together on the floor. Iwaizumi thinks it’s about as comfortable as a subway station.

“Iwaizumi-san, if you could please fill out this in-patient admission file for Oikawa-san.”

He looks at the nurse before taking the piece of paper she’s handing. There’s already a portion of the paper that’s filled out. He doesn't let the chance slip and Iwaizumi asks the nurse what had happened to Oikawa, and he kind of regrets it because he doesn’t really understand her. All he got out from the information that she had given him is that Oikawa overdosed on suppressants, and that he had undergone a paroxysmal episode due to it. The nurse probably noticed his confused expression, and just dubs it as a ‘mini heart attack’, her sweet voice assuring him Oikawa is going to be alright and that it’s not life-threatening. That really doesn’t help the tension that’s been eating him inside, but at least Iwaizumi knows now.

He begins to fill out the top part of the admission form. It’s basic information and Iwaizumi had no problems answering them. Oikawa Tooru. Born 20th of July. Twenty years old. University student. Male—

Iwaizumi’s hand stops when he sees check boxes for alpha, omega, and beta next to his primary gender. He clutches the pen he’s holding more firmly.

He angrily checks ‘omega’ before giving the form back to the receptionist.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa blinks his eyes open, a tickling sensation in his nostrils rousing him awake.

The overhead lights are dimmed, and he could tell just from the white ceiling and white walls that he’s in the hospital. Lifting a hand, he brushes his palms on his face, feeling a thin tube and tiny nozzles inserted in his nostrils. Oikawa breathes in through his nose, finding it relaxing and much easier that way.

A hollow needle is inserted on the back of his left hand, and Oikawa’s eyes follow where the tube leads until he sees a bag of saline or sodium chloride above his head – Oikawa isn’t sure. The words are too small to read. He feels cords snaking beneath his hospital gown, connecting to a tall machine by his bedside. It has a monitor that looks like an old TV screen, displaying green waves and lines and several numbers that change every second. Oikawa thinks it’s cool because it looks like the terminal station monitors in one of his favorite sci-fi video games.

Oikawa goes to check the other side of the room, wondering if the heart monitor would beep dangerously because now he feels his heart racing when he sees Hajime sleeping on a sofa that is too little for his long legs and wide shoulders, his head bent in an uncomfortable angle by the armrest. He feels nothing but pure relief at the sight of him.

He chuckles through the oxygen tubes in his nose.

“Iwa-chan, you’re gonna get a stiff neck when you wake up…” he whispers to himself, although it still came out louder because of the complete silence and the small size of the room.

Iwaizumi did, in fact, suffer from a stiff neck when he woke up.

He groans, craning his neck side to side to help soothe the pain. Oikawa watches him stretch his arms up, letting at a huge yawn, his eyes blinking tiredly until he meets Oikawa’s brown eyes. He sits up, and in one swift motion, Iwaizumi scampers to his side.

“O-Oikawa?” he stutters, his voice filled with obvious relief, pupils shaking as his hands clutch the bed’s safety rails.

Oikawa smiles apologetically just as the machines starts to beep faster.

“I'm afraid I don’t remember your name.”

“Don’t fucking joke around, dumbass. You seriously think I’d fall for that?”

And then Oikawa bursts into a fit of laughter, and sort of wishes that he didn’t because he’s finding it harder to breathe now. He covers his mouth with one hand until he stops. “I did say before that I can remember Iwa-chan in the event of an amnesia if I try hard enough.”

Relieved, Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and smiles at him. “I’m glad you’re okay.” An armchair across the room is pulled effortlessly by Hajime, so he could sit beside Oikawa. “How you feeling?”

“Like a gas station toilet,” Oikawa says the first thing he thought of. He feels cold sweat soaking his hospital gown, and he’s light-headed, and tired, but he’s happy at how Iwaizumi keeps looking at him with concern. Iwaizumi just makes fun of his strange descriptions.

Silence falls between them. It’s pure, but comfortable. There’s no whirring of the air conditioner, or birds chirping outside, no background noise from the television, no clanging and running water in the kitchen. The hospital room is quiet, aside from the constant beeps from the heart monitor.

“I’m sorry.”

They said it at the same time, their eyes widening.

“Uh,” Iwaizumi starts weakly, at loss on what to say next. He casts his gaze down on his hands. “Sorry,” he says again, louder. “I shouldn’t have lashed out at you like that.” Oikawa finds himself looking down on his own bony hands too. He’s talking about _that_ night. “The last thing I want is for you to be afraid of me, and…”

“I know you didn’t mean it,” Oikawa continues for him. His voice is raspy and dry, and he looks at Iwaizumi in the eye to make his words sound genuine. “I’m sorry, too.” His throat bobs as he gulps his nervousness away. “I was so scared of you replacing me, that I try not to bother you because I thought ‘man I’m going to have to take care of myself soon’ and that ‘Iwa-chan is going to leave me in the future’. Stupid, I know. But it really backfired, huh?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Iwaizumi says with a sigh, before pushing down the rails on the side of the gurney so he could prop his elbows on the bed. There's something in his eyes that tells Oikawa that Iwaizumi won't leave him so easily. “You’ve been bothering me for twenty years and you want to stop now?”

“Fifteen years,” Oikawa corrects. “I officially started to make your life miserable by age five.”

“Nope. Twenty. You’ve always been a pain in the ass ever since we’re babies.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“Don’t make me find that baby photo when you puked all over my crib.”

“Such a photo exists?” Oikawa asks in disbelief. “I definitely have to see that!”

“Your mom placed you next to me on my crib and you almost fucking puked on me.”

“That was zero years old?”

“Yeah," he says with a small nod. "So that makes it twenty.”

They laugh for a while, recollecting embarrassing childhood memories Oikawa didn’t know he had forgotten until Iwaizumi tells him. Oikawa wants to cry. They’re becoming their own version of normal again, and it’s making his heart swell – which probably isn’t a good thing right now.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi starts. “Don’t you think that heart monitor looks like those computer terminals in Alien: Isolation?"

Oikawa gawks in bewilderment. “That’s exactly what I was thinking!”

“I can tell. You keep looking at it,” Hajime says, laughing, smiling sweetly.

It makes Oikawa want to take a picture and memorize all of Hajime’s smiles, because he never really was a person who does it all the time. But here he is, smiling more than he had smiled for an entire month.

“Your parents will be here soon, by the way.”

Oikawa’s face is stricken with horror. “You _told_ them?”

“Well, no shit, dumbass. Who do you think will pay for your hospital bills?”

A loud sigh escapes from his lips. Oikawa doesn’t want his parents to travel all the way from Miyagi. They’re already busy from their work and their business and he doesn’t want to trouble them just because he has terrible decision-making skills.

“Whose fault do you think this is, huh? Overdosing on suppressants like a fucking idiot?” Hajime asks him, crossing his arms. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Oikawa pouts at him. “Iwa-chan, you’re acting like my mom again.”

“I will replace your IV with bleach if you don’t shut up.”

He studies him for a bit, chapped lips pursing before asking, “Why do you hate it when I call you mom?”

Hajime leans back, crossing his arms. “Because your mom and my mom are the greatest and I’m nothing compared to them,” he says simply and with no hesitation. Oikawa is honestly shocked. “I can’t even protect you from something like _this_.” He glances around the room, apologetic eyes focusing on the different machines that’s keeping Oikawa stable. “Even though I promised to.”

Oikawa can’t drum up a vocal response, so he lifts his hand (the one without an IV) and curls his fingers between the spaces of Hajime’s knuckles, telling him wordlessly that he doesn’t blame him for anything at all.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The next time Oikawa wakes up, there are other people in the room. His eyes first sees Hajime’s head on the side of his bed. He’s snoring lightly, and Oikawa wants to pinch his nose for it. Iwaizumi would’ve never done all of these things if Oikawa didn’t present as an omega, so maybe being an omega isn’t so bad after all. Oikawa lazily grazes his hand through Iwaizumi’s hair, hoping he’d wake up and realize how much he loves him.

Whispering, but familiar voices snaps him out of his reveries. They seem to be talking, but they’re quiet, like they don’t want Oikawa to hear them.

Oikawa sits up when he sees his mother by his bedside, and his father standing, arms crossed by the window talking to the doctor. Oikawa notes the serious expression on his dad’s face, nodding at whatever the doctor is saying.

Then, the sweet smell of daffodils and rosemary fills his senses suddenly. He stares up and his mother smiles at him. It’s like a shot of adrenaline to his already tachycardiac heart – because it’s the first time he can smell his mother’s distinctive scent, and it’s beautiful, and it’s making him cry in happiness like how babies laugh upon seeing their mothers for the first time. There’s something magical about her scent and her embrace. She’s a refuge from the hurricane that is Oikawa Tooru’s life.

His parents stayed with him for the entire day. Hajime had to explain what happened because Oikawa doesn’t want to, pouting, a little embarrassed because he knows is parents aren’t used to their son fucking up. Oikawa doesn’t eat the hospital food that they forced on his bed. It tastes bland and the only thing he could tolerate is the slice of apples and bananas mixed with peanut butter.

There’s a convenience store in the ground floor, Oikawa assumes. Those things are everywhere. He asks his mom to buy soda-flavored ice cream and milk bread and Famima chicken and steamed meat buns.

“That’s a lot of food. You’re not pregnant, are you?” Oikawa’s mother jokes, giggling. A blush creeps on Oikawa’s cheeks before he pouts. She waves her hand apologetically in front of her. “I’m kidding, sweetie. I’ll buy those stuff for you.”

"Auntie, I’ll come with you,” Iwaizumi offers, standing up abruptly.

“What? Iwa-chan? You’re leaving me too?”

“You’re gonna let Auntie carry all the stuff you’re demanding?”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

There's a FamilyMart on the ground floor just as Oikawa had mentioned. Iwaizumi doesn’t know how he could possibly know that, unless he had been in this particular hospital before.

He lets Oikawa’s mother pick the items, and he just carries it for her. Iwaizumi is surprised when she suddenly stops and turns to look up at him, squinting her eyes to examine his features. She sighs fondly afterwards then grabs a packet of milk bread from the shelf.

“You’re so grown up now, Hajime-kun. It feels like it’s just yesterday when you and Tooru were this small,” she says, placing a hand by her waist to let Iwaizumi imagine how small they used to be. “You two grew up so tall, too!”

Iwaizumi just mutters sounds of agreement, just so she knows he’s listening.

“Oh, Hajime-kun. I don’t know what would happen to Tooru without you,” she murmurs suddenly, her voice a little sadder. “Tooru is lucky to have you by his side. Can you believe that he wanted to live by himself once? But it’s good that he’s living with you now.”

Iwaizumi stops in his tracks, eyes down on the floor, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallows.

“Auntie, about that…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoooooow did this end up so long im so sorry  
> this is sooo long i aint proofreading this  
> also!!! I really appreciate the comments & messages ya;'ll  
> U guys know whats up & ya'll should know yo boy here is happy af
> 
> holla at yo boy here: [twitter](https://twitter.com/dahliadenoire) or [tumblr](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/)


	3. Talk Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part III of III — [TALK ME DOWN by Troye Sivan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lo3lxS-6joY)

“Alright, Oikawa-san, hold your breath.”

Oikawa does what she says and squeezes his eyes shut, making a displeased hum when the needle is pulled out from the back of his hand, a cotton hastily taped onto the swelling area on his skin. A little bit of blood spills from the small puncture. Needles didn’t scare him, but sometimes he couldn’t help but think that the thin tube would get stuck inside his veins. He breathes a sigh of relief when he sees the soft, bloody, hollow needle is out of his flesh and thrown to the trash.

“Good work,” the nurse says to him, her voice positive like she’s praising a child. He thinks she has a nice smile so he smiles back. Oikawa secretly likes the attention he’s receiving from the nurses for the past few days. There's just an air of sincerity around them, the way they smile and talk with their all-white garb. Oikawa takes another look at the woman tending to his needle wound.  _She's like an angel,_  he thinks admiringly.

Oikawa feels like he can let his eyes close when the young nurse leaves, wheeling her cart out. He slumps his back to the raised bed, lifting his hand in front of his face now that the IV has been pulled out. He loosens his fist, opening and closing them. It still feels heavy, and a little numb. He wasn’t able to move it this freely for three days, so he stretches all of his long fingers, spreading them like the leaves of a palm tree.

His vision defocuses from his hand and onto a dawdling Hajime behind it, who is roughly throwing in their used clothes onto a large duffel bag. Oikawa’s parents had brought in some change of clothes for them, consisting mostly of old shirts and pants Oikawa purposely left back in the countryside.

“Go take a bath already,” Iwaizumi says calmly as cleans up, picking up Oikawa’s belongings from the drawers and making sure they won't leave anything behind. “We’re leaving as soon as your parents are done with the papers.”

“It’s seven in the morning and you’re already this bossy?” A small chuckle streams from Oikawa’s lips, causing Hajime to narrow his eyes in a glare. But Iwaizumi looks away in an instant when the other flashes him a smile.

The roses in his cheeks are back, Iwaizumi thinks to himself, both guilt and relief warring within him. Oikawa looks healthy – his cheeks are puffier, arms a bit chubbier, and the cosmic glint of his old, happy self is back beneath the layers of his eyes. He hears the bed creak slightly, Iwaizumi immediately turning his attention to the man who seems to be able to stand and walk properly now. Then he hears the shower squeak as soon as Oikawa steps inside the bath, and then water splashing onto the tiles, and Oikawa humming lazily. It doesn’t take him very long to finish.

Iwaizumi takes a deep breath and chucks the remaining clothes from the hospital cabinet to his bag, but not before tossing a new set clean of clothes to Oikawa. Half an hour later, a doctor comes in together with Oikawa's parents, standing by the bedside going through a list of do’s and don’ts, which, Iwaizumi hopes, Oikawa is mentally taking down. But based on his uninterested eyes and strong desire to get out of the hospital, Iwaizumi is pretty certain he doesn’t care enough to remember these things.

“Careful now, Oikawa-san. Absolutely no suppressants this month,” the doctor emphasizes. Oikawa groans plaintively. “We know your heat just started, so I suggest staying at home for a couple more days.”

Once discharged from the room, Oikawa grumbles quietly as he sat on a wheelchair, being pushed by the porter. He insists on walking, but the nurse says it is standard protocol. He tries his best not to complain on the way to the parking lot, deciding it’d be best to whine when his parents are gone and when he’s alone with Hajime. He wants to go home so bad. He misses his bed, his television, his Playstation, and most of all he misses Hajime’s undivided attention.

Oikawa is surprised when they reached their parking space. Instead of their old family car, he sees a silver Toyota sedan big enough for four passengers.

“Uncle, is this a new car?” Iwaizumi asks curiously before Oikawa can, studying the silver paint job before hopping in. It looks fairly new.

“Yup. Had to sell the old one,” Oikawa’s father says as he starts the engine, Oikawa hopping in next to Iwaizumi at the backseat. The man on the driver’s seat laughs fondly. “Tooru’s in college, and his siblings are working abroad, so we figured we wouldn’t need a big car anymore.”

Oikawa’s family has a history of big automobiles – most of them minivans or SUVs. The last car they had was a Montero if Iwaizumi can remember correctly. Their cars started becoming bigger when Oikawa’s aunts and cousins and nephews moved next door, and they started to be one huge family who needed more than four seats in a car.

As expected, Oikawa complains that it’s too small, and that there’s not enough space for his legs to spread out. “I liked our old car better!” he whines, raising his knees up to rest it on the back of his mom’s passenger seat, emphasizing how cramped it is.

“Tooru, if you keep grumbling back there Hajime-kun might leave you.”

He scoffs, glaring at his mother’s joke. “Iwa-chan wouldn’t leave me,” Oikawa says. He can say that with more confidence now. Iwaizumi recognizes Oikawa’s scent growing stronger when the smiling boy leans his face closer to him. “Right, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi blinks, and crosses his arms in thought. It’s his chance to tease Oikawa with two other comrades in his side. “Who knows? You’ve been really getting into my nerves lately.”

“How awful!” Oikawa cries out, offended. “After saying all that stuff in the hospital about—”

He presses a hand over Oikawa’s mouth, his cheeks turning slightly red. “Don’t you ever shut up?”

“Mother, are you hearing this? Iwa-chan is telling me to shut up,” Oikawa complains after wrestling away from Iwaizumi’s grasp.

His mother cranes her neck back to glance at Iwaizumi. “Hajime-kun, please forgive Tooru, he’s such a child sometimes.”

Oikawa gasps in disbelief, covering his mouth in shock, then asks why his mother keeps taking Hajime’s side. But she just giggles, and tells Oikawa to settle down and give Iwaizumi some peace and quiet.

His folks laugh off every single remark Oikawa spits out, teasing him from time to time, seemingly used to Oikawa’s childish whining just as Iwaizumi was. But Iwaizumi stays silent, except when Oikawa’s mom would ask him a question or two. He’s satisfied staring out the windshield in deep thought as they drive back to the apartment. It’s not far, but Iwaizumi had to point them to the right direction since their place is conveniently hidden within the deep residential neighborhood with its narrow streets and lackluster signs.

It’s not much of a shock when Iwaizumi opened the door to their apartment and is greeted by the same amount of clutter as before. Oikawa’s mother’s reaction is a little different though, almost dropping her purse at the complete mess obscuring their apartment space. The carpets are still a little damp, floors dusty, dishes unwashed for days, and Oikawa’s haphazard nesting in the living room made it look like a horror house.

“Did a typhoon pass by in here? My god, what a mess!” the woman yells in utter distress, her head shaking disapprovingly as she picks up the trash on the floor as she wades her way in. She doesn’t remove her shoes because it doesn’t matter anyway when the apartment is dirtier than the soles of her kitten heels. She walks ahead of the two and enters the living room.

“Auntie, I can explain…” Iwaizumi starts, feeling nothing but embarrassment at the scene. He wants to cover his face.

“These are Hajime-kun’s clothes,” she says, her eyes traveling all over Oikawa’s damn nest. Iwaizumi’s face reddens. She could probably smell his scent everywhere. Oikawa’s mother spins to look at her son with curious, narrow eyes. “Tooru-chan, have you been nesting?”

Oikawa’s shoulders stiffen, blushing a bit. He squares his shoulders and looks away. “W-Well, yeah… It’s normal, isn’t it?”

“Then this is your fault. Be a little more responsible, Tooru! You should clean up this mess. Hajime-kun will get mad at you,” his mother tells him demandingly, although she starts picking up the clutter from the floor by instinct before Oikawa can.

Oikawa pouts, a grumbling sound coming out from the back of his throat when Iwaizumi shoots him a smug grin. He looks away from Hajime irately, placing hands on his hips. “He’s always mad at me anyway!”

His mother then opens the door to their shared bedroom, where a mountain pile of wet towels and blankets and damp clothes cover the floors and beds.

“My goodness,” Oikawa’s mother sighed out for the tenth time, distraught. She shakes her head contemptuously.

Despite several protests from Iwaizumi, Oikawa’s mother helped them clean up, because she “couldn’t stand the mess” and that she won’t be able to stay for breakfast if the apartment “looks like a pig pen”. His father came in a little later, mentioning something about the lack of parking spaces in their area. It’s good he arrived with less clutter than before. Oikawa had always thought his father was way more meticulous than his mother when it comes to tidiness. When the rooms are spotless, all the dirty clothes in laundry bag, and the carpets vacuumed, Oikawa urges his parents to sit by their small circular dining table. It’s only big enough for two or three people, so he lets his parents sit first.

“Spend the morning here. I’ll make you guys breakfast!” Oikawa offers generously with a wide smile. His arms are open wide.

His mother blinks at him before looking at her husband worriedly, then back at her son. “Tooru-chan, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. We can get breakfast on our way home.”

Oikawa clutches his chest, a bit hurt. “How can you say that to your favorite child? Be a little more supportive!”

“It’s okay, Auntie. I’ll help him cook,” Iwaizumi barges in casually, already tying an apron behind him.

She claps and intertwines her hands, smiling at Iwaizumi warmheartedly. “Thank you, Hajime-kun! I feel better knowing you’ll be the one cooking,” she says, mocking Oikawa who’s growing more and more annoyed, baffled at her mother’s excessive bias over Hajime. She places a hand by her mouth like a wall and whispers in Iwaizumi’s direction, “You know how Tooru is. He’s never good with these things, although he _does_ try…”

Oikawa frowns childishly. “I can hear you, mom. I’m standing right here!”

His mother closes her mouth with the tips of her fingers daintily. “Oh, sorry, Tooru-chan.”

Just like Oikawa’s dad, Iwaizumi can’t help but snort out a short laugh, noticing the uncanny similarity between Tooru and his mother. He can tell most of Oikawa’s expressions and personality comes from her. Oikawa Yuuko is an inch or so taller than the average Japanese woman. She has a healthy-looking face, dewy and fair along with the slight puckers and creases due to her age. Like Tooru, her bobbed hair is like cinnamon, although a bit of a lighter shade, the strands of gray interweaving with the original color, losing some of its lustre. It’s obvious where Oikawa’s fine features and brilliant brown eyes came from.

“Mom’s been acting super weird,” Oikawa starts, washing the uncooked rice under running water. Iwaizumi is drawn away from his thoughts, stealing a quick glance at the young man. They’re standing next to each other in their tiny kitchen, and Iwaizumi can’t help but notice the closeness between him and Oikawa. The small space doesn’t help at all. “What did you tell her, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t look away from the tofu he’s cutting.

“Nothing,” he replies disinterestedly.

Oikawa narrows his eyes at him, his lips puckering into an annoyed pout, dissatisfied with the reply. His mom had been praising Hajime—thanking him for every little thing since their time in the hospital, like helping to call the nurse, or picking up the junk food wrappers Oikawa leaves on his hospital bed, or just turning the television on, opening the windows, and other small things. Although his mother never fails to point out Hajime’s dependability since they were young, Oikawa noticed that it’s going a little overboard. She speaks to Iwaizumi _too_ fondly. And despite all the love and attention he had received for being hospitalized and for being a newly hatched omega, it still sort of makes him jealous.

“She might as well adopt you,” he mutters, dropping the inner pot inside the cooker a little too crudely.

Iwaizumi had just finished cutting the tofu into small cubes when he looks at Oikawa. “You’re acting like a five-year-old.”

“You told her something!” Oikawa insists, hitting Hajime’s shoulders with his. “Iwa-chan definitely did!”

The one preparing the miso soup grunts, craning his head back a little in frustration before sighing loudly. “I didn’t tell her anything,” he says, voice unusually calm. “You’re thinking too much.”

Iwaizumi knows he won’t let it go easily, knowing quite well how observant Oikawa is. But he’s thankful Oikawa had stopped pestering him about it and is now busy searching the drawers for utensils. Iwaizumi laughs inwardly at the man beside him, because Oikawa doesn’t know where the kitchenware is, largely due to his infrequent visits to the kitchen.

“What are you looking for?” Iwaizumi asks with another sigh as he turns on their induction stove to boil the soup stock. Oikawa doesn’t reply. The cooktop begins to heat up the cold December air when Iwaizumi sees Oikawa pulling out a large cleaver.

Green eyes widening, Iwaizumi immediately pries the sharp object away from Oikawa’s hands.

“And what do you plan on cutting with _this?_ ” Iwaizumi asks almost angrily, hiding the cleaver back into the drawers and away from Oikawa.

“Uh, vegetables…?” Oikawa replies, uncertain, his head tilting. He averts his eyes nervously.

“This is for meat, shithead,” he says, then pulls out a much smaller knife. Then he gazes down to Oikawa’s hand, sitting prettily on the counter. It’s still sort of swollen and ruddy, a cotton still taped against where his IV drip used to be. Iwaizumi clicks his tongue. “Never mind. I’ll do it.”

“I’m not going to cut myself if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him. “You just got back from the hospital. I’ll take it from here.”

“Noooo,” Oikawa buzzes insistently, shaking Iwaizumi, who remains unfazed. His deep voice changes quickly, and he proceeds to whimper like a dog. “You promised to help me cook!”

Oikawa moves one step sideways to lean on Hajime, rubbing his head of uncombed deep auburn hair on Iwaizumi’s neck, kneading the top of his head on Hajime’s scent glands, his cheek against his shoulder. He’s marking him again, and Oikawa doesn’t know why. He just feels like it, simple as that – and he expects Hajime to shove him away, to roughly push his head back, or at least complain, but he doesn’t, even going as far as to tousle his hair playfully with his free hand. Oikawa likes it when he does that.

He clicks his tongue again. “You’re so fucking persistent,” Iwaizumi comments, annoyed. “Go crack some eggs and make tamagoyaki. You can at least do that, right?”

“Okay!” Oikawa straightens up, excited, although he’s pretty sure his tamagoyaki rolls will end up as scrambled eggs one way or another. Iwaizumi sees his eyes sparkle, his mouth curving into a wide smile before skipping to the fridge. He finds himself unconsciously smiling too. “Five eggs should be enough?”

“Yeah,” he says, nodding his head. The tofu is already cooked when he threw in a generous amount of miso paste onto the pan. He lowers the heat so it won’t boil.

After making the soup, Iwaizumi goes ahead and tries to prevent Oikawa from screwing up the omelette, making sure the young man wouldn’t put too much mirin or soy sauce into the bowl. Iwaizumi oils up the pan, using tissue paper to spread the oil around. He lets it warm up on the stove.

“Not too hard,” he instructs Oikawa when he sees him beating the eggs too coarsely. “Give me the bowl.”

“I want to be the one to cook it,” Oikawa says stubbornly, steering the bowl away from Iwaizumi.

Hajime furrows his brows. “No way. You can burn water for all I know.”

“A bit of an exaggeration, really,” Oikawa says, thinking how Iwaizumi likes to undermine his cooking abilities. But he stops. _Wait, you can burn water?_ He doesn’t had over the bowl and mixes the eggs even more with chopsticks because he’s trying to figure out whether or not one can burn water.

Iwaizumi lets out a frustrated groan and rolls his eyes. “Fine!” He steps aside so Oikawa can stand in front of the stove. “Pour half in.” He points at the heated pan with his chin. “Just half,” he repeats.

Oikawa pushes his shoulders tighter. He doesn’t get why he’s nervous.

“Tilt the pan so the eggs spread out,” he says. Iwaizumi puts his hands on his hips, eyes fixated on Oikawa’s hands. “Then flip the sides to make it more… square. After it sets, roll it upwards.” Oikawa’s grip on his chopsticks grew firmer, trying his best to do what Iwaizumi tells him, and trying not to mind Hajime’s intense gaze. He tries to flick the edges of the egg, but ends up stabbing it, creating a huge hole.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa drones sadly, staring at Iwaizumi like he’s about to cry.

“It’s fine. Try it again,” he says, filling the gap by spilling a little bit of the egg mixture in. Oikawa flips it correctly now, mostly because the egg thickened when Iwaizumi added in more. He pushes the egg, but it’s not rolling like how it should be, and Oikawa is growing impatient.

“Why is this so hard? It looks so easy when you do it,” he says, attempting to flip the egg into a roll, and even using his hands to reel the layers in. Iwaizumi slaps his hands away and scolds him.

They could hear Oikawa’s parents talking outside, it’s soft and they can’t really make out the words, but Iwaizumi’s voice quickly drowns it out. “I’ll teach you a little technique. Here, I’ll show you.”

Iwaizumi steps closer – a little _too_ close – but Oikawa doesn’t mind _at all._ He may be doing all of this on purpose for all Oikawa knows. Hajime grabs his right hand – not the chopsticks – his _hand_ , guiding them, sliding the long wooden sticks beneath the edges of the egg, so it would unstick from the pan’s surface. He quickly brings the heat down, because they’re taking too long and he doesn’t want to burn the bottom of the egg. Then Iwaizumi lets go, but comes back by bringing an arm around Oikawa instead, their hands now clutching the pan’s handle together. Oikawa’s pulse starts to climb, feeling like he could cook this damn egg on his heating face if he tries.

“It’s like… flipping a pancake, I guess? But not _too_ strong?” Hajime tries to explain. He's not doing a very good job at it, sadly. “Instead of just rolling it with your hands or a spatula.” He’s smiling and Oikawa can feel his warmth on one side of his body. Something overwhelming seems to engulf Oikawa’s heart. It might be the lovely smell from the seasoned eggs, or it might be Hajime’s scent too. It really doesn’t matter. Oikawa shakes his head, focusing back on what Iwaizumi is saying.

With his strong hands around his, gripping the pan, Iwaizumi shakes it a little. “You can tell it’s cooked if it’s sliding off the surface of the pan.” He tips it slightly forward. “You know, uh, when you serve, right? You toss the ball with the flick of the wrist? So, just do that—” Iwaizumi jerks the pan quickly but only with a small amount of force. The egg rolls by itself with every jolt, with every tug. And when it’s been rolled hallway, Iwaizumi puts in the rest of the beaten eggs in, lets it set, and instructs Oikawa to do the same thing and square up the edges. It’s not much of a shocker when Oikawa screws up again, even with Iwaizumi’s hands still curling against his own. In fact, he tends to screw up _because_ their hands are touching. But Iwaizumi makes up for his mistakes as usual, and he doesn’t seem to plan on letting go until this omelette is done.

Iwaizumi begins to pilot Oikawa’s hands again, flicking the pan with small, quick motions so the egg would roll in nicely by itself. Oikawa lets out a sound of awe. Hajime finishes it by patting the egg with a flat spatula. Finally, he lets go. Oikawa breathes out a sigh and places a palm over his chest. This isn’t very good for his weak heart.

“Do it yourself next time,” Iwaizumi says when he slides off the egg to a chopping board, cutting the fluffy egg vertically into fat strips. He looks at Oikawa, smiling with certainty. “I’m sure you can do it.”

Oikawa hopes Iwaizumi doesn’t notice the sudden shift of colors on his face. Then again, he could blame it on the heat from the pan if he asks.

After watching Hajime work on some vegetables next, Oikawa tries to copy him, but his strips and cubes appeared slightly less refined than Iwaizumi’s neat cuts. Iwaizumi must’ve seen the disappointed look on Oikawa’s face and teaches him how to hold the knife properly. The next batch of vegetables looked better and the sparks in Oikawa’s eyes came back. They finish off by making rice porridge and some side dishes from left over ingredients they have from the fridge.

“Very traditional. I like it,” his father comments as soon as they serve breakfast. Iwaizumi goes ahead to get extra folding chairs from the kitchen, so he and Oikawa can sit next to them.

“Did you cook the tamagoyaki, Tooru-chan? They’re delicious!” his mother says, flashing him a brilliant smile.

Oikawa looks away in slight shame. “Actually, Iwa-cha—”

“Tooru made it,” Iwaizumi says, voice louder than Oikawa’s voice, cutting him off easily. He unfolds the chairs next to them. “I’m pretty surprised myself.”

He stares at Hajime in surprise, feeling a smile twisting his mouth that he had to bite his lips to stop it. It’s been a while since Hajime called him that.

Breakfast is hearty and pleasant, Oikawa’s mother’s teasing comments still ever-present in between conversations. Oikawa misses mornings with his parents, and his sister, and his nephews and nieces. Whenever he’d look at this mother, and take in her rosemary scent, his thoughts just plunge back to his memories back in Miyagi. Oikawa turns a little quiet, feeling a bit homesick.

Iwaizumi glances over to Oikawa.

“We can go to Miyagi during spring break,” Iwaizumi suggests before biting into his food, eyes subtly looking over at Oikawa’s features. His expression seems to soften.

Oikawa’s mother claps her hands once, coffee eyes lighting up. “That sounds like a good idea! When was the last time you two came home? It’s been almost a year!”

“It was last March,” Oikawa says, chewing on one side of his cheek. He swallows just as an idea pops in his head. “Mom, dad, you should spend Christmas here in Tokyo! It gets really bright and all the shops are open and there’re public shows everywhere!”

She smiles apologetically. “Oh, Tooru-chan, I don’t think we’ll have time to stay very long,” his mother says, her voice just as upset as Oikawa’s sour, pouty expression. She places a hand on her son’s cheek before patting his head. “I promise we’ll celebrate together next year here in Tokyo, honey.”

It’s almost noon when his parents stood up to leave, Oikawa standing drearily by the doorway for several seconds even after his parents had kissed him goodbye and closed the door. There’s a weakness in his knees when he remembers their retreating backs and their sad goodbyes.

He tiredly walks back to the living room where Iwaizumi is sitting. A heavy kind of silence fills the gap between them. The cold air nips the back of Oikawa’s neck, and he’s about to adjust the thermostat when Iwaizumi snaps his head to glare at him. His eyes are sharp, brows furrowed angrily at him and Oikawa doesn’t know what he did wrong to deserve Iwaizumi’s trademark frown.

“You really are an idiot,” Iwaizumi insults him out of the blue, taking Oikawa by surprise even though he’s used to it.

“W-What?” is what Oikawa can only muster out of sheer confusion. He sees Iwaizumi grab a throw pillow from the couch. He senses a dark foreboding within Hajime’s glare and he braces himself. “Ow! What’s up with you? Are you still mad at me?”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?!” Iwaizumi hits him again with the pillow. “Your parents wouldn’t have come in here if you took better care of yourself! You fucking moron!”

“I thought we talked about – _ow!_ – this? I just got back from the hospital so stop hitting me, stupid gorilla!” Oikawa yells out, crossing his arms over his head to thwart Iwaizumi’s hits. Oikawa frowns angrily at him. That seems to annoy Iwaizumi more somehow. “See this?” Oikawa shows his hand, swollen and red from days of IV therapy, some leftover adhesive from the transpore tapes still sticking to his skin. “I still have my battle scars with me!”

Hajime smacks him again. “Battle scars my ass. That’s a fucking needle wound.”

Oikawa can tell Hajime had been wanting to hit him ever since he got hospitalized. He doesn’t blame him though. “You’re saying that now but you wouldn’t even let me cut vegetables earlier!”

“It’s ‘cause you were planning on cutting green onions with a meat cleaver, dumbass!”

Oikawa shields himself with his arms when he sees Iwaizumi raise the pillow over his head. “Iwa-chan! Ah! S-Stop!” He doesn’t stop though, causing Oikawa to fall back on the couch. “You were so nice when mom and dad was here!”

Iwaizumi’s gaze fell to another pillow. It’s larger and he grabs it before hitting Oikawa with it. But Oikawa wouldn’t go down without a fight. He rolls over to snag the pillow Iwaizumi dropped and hits him back square in the face. Now armed, Oikawa retaliates and successfully smacks Hajime the second time. He bursts into a fit of laughter, seeing Iwaizumi’s eyebrow twitch in both mischief and irritation.

“Iwa-chan’s making that scary face again!” Oikawa provokes, snickering behind the cushion he’s holding up to protect himself.

“Oh, so we’re doing this now, huh?” he says menacingly, and Oikawa kind of regrets hitting him. He dodges another blow, stepping back skillfully, and instead of getting revenge, Oikawa runs to the bedroom to flee from Iwaizumi’s ridiculously strong attacks.

Oikawa grabs the bigger pillow from their bed and throws it at the man who’s walking threateningly towards him. Iwaizumi deflects Oikawa’s attack with ease, reminding him of an overpowered final boss from a game he had been trying to beat for weeks. He dives towards Hajime’s bed as dramatically as possible to retrieve another pillow. Oikawa is quick, and this time it hits Iwaizumi right in the forehead.

Hajime smirks at him, like it did no damage at all. Oikawa tries to slow Hajime’s pace by hurling more pillows at him, but he feels his arms and hands weaken already, having to come back from the hospital and all that. When he runs out of ammo, Iwaizumi had already placed one knee on the bed to smother the downed man with uninterrupted pillow assaults.

“Iwa—you monster! Ow! Seriously, stop! I yield!” Oikawa shouts in between laughter and groans. He looks back at the enemy with mischievous eyes before strategically grabbing onto the pillow Hajime is holding, stopping him mid-attack. He seizes it with one swift pull, making Iwaizumi tumble on top of him.

Oikawa hits back with all his might and now Iwaizumi is the one on defense, pulling back from his position.

“You little—”

Iwaizumi is unquestionably two maybe three times stronger than him – a fact Oikawa is reminded of when Hajime catches both of his wrists, holding him down in an iron grip that’s basically impossible to escape from. The pillow allows gravity to tug it down from Oikawa’s captured hands.

Light feathers and dust floats freely in the air, the golden sunlight making them more visible whenever it hits the tiny particles. They stare wordlessly at each other for a while, Iwaizumi pressing his wrists down on the mattress, and Oikawa staring at him with big, round eyes. It’s making Oikawa’s heart beat faster. He stays where he is, between the bed and a serious-looking Hajime, shocked and dazed and breathless, the pounding in his heart quicker, fueled by the lethal pillow fight and the proximity of their faces.

“I-Iwa-chan?” Oikawa mutters nervously to cut through the silence. He can hear his own heartbeat.

The man on top of him slowly leans in closer, his face just centimeters away. Oikawa stops breathing, _stops thinking all together,_ just as he feels Hajime’s breath against the tip of his nose. He squeezes his eyes shut, not exactly knowing what to expect until he feels soft stalks of hair tickling the side of his neck. His eyes snap open with the touch, his senses numbing as Iwaizumi nestles his face onto Oikawa’s neck, sinking into his skin and breathing him in with one deep inhale.

Oikawa feels absolutely stupid for thinking he’s going to be kissed.

He’d slap himself for even thinking about it if it weren’t for the other man’s grip on him. Oikawa could only squirm nervously under him, as Iwaizumi rubs his face on the surface of his blushing skin, his sharp nose sliding against the edges of his jaw, the faint softness of his lips scraping the sensitive spot on his throat. The almost invisible hairs on his exposed skin stand up reflexively, bringing along a delightful stimulating sensation throughout his body until his anxiety fades.

With his wrists still locked in place, Oikawa allows Hajime to scent mark him – though, expectedly enough, Oikawa does not object. He’s anything but unappreciative. Then he hears a low sound coming from Iwaizumi’s throat, and Oikawa swears that deep vibration he felt was him growling. The man on top of him presses forward even more, burying his face in his neck, planting what seems like kisses behind his ears, and gently glides his forehead and nose through the soft locks of his brown hair, inhaling his scent.

Oikawa thinks _flustered_ really isn’t the right word – his blood rising all to his head, his heart pumping them out in a desperate attempt to pay the damages in his currently short-circuiting brain.

“You’re not allowed to take suppressants this month, right?”

His hot breath tickles his neck, making Oikawa want to curl up in embarrassment at this unforeseen closeness. Hajime’s voice is somehow deeper and gruffer when his mouth is this close to his ear. Oikawa feels the same lips graze over the side of his head, as Hajime sniffs the mild citrus scent lingering in his hair.

Iwaizumi’s favorite warm smile paints over Oikawa’s face as soon as the man beneath realizes what Hajime is doing. Oikawa happily reciprocates in the next second, smiling against the other’s cheek.

“Yeah, but it’s already winter break,” Oikawa says, breathing against his tan skin. He shakes his wrists away from Iwaizumi’s loosening grip. “I’ll stay home until my heat is over. I’m not going anywhere.” He slowly snakes his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck, his palms taking every opportunity to touch him throughout the journey. Oikawa reels him in much closer than before if it’s even possible, taking in his scent as much as Iwaizumi is taking in his. “Not without you at least.”

Iwaizumi groans, mumbling something Oikawa didn’t quite catch.

“Did you say something, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asks with a curious smile, but Iwaizumi doesn’t repeat it. Instead, he rises up from the warm body beneath him, propping his elbows on either side of Oikawa’s head.

“I said,” Iwaizumi starts, almost angry, then looks away blushing. “You still smell like a hospital room.”

“Really?” Oikawa asks with one brow raised. He’s pretty sure Hajime had said something else. He can tell easily, so he just beams back at him. “Iwa-chan is so kind, even though your face is scary.”

Iwaizumi hoists himself up even more, levelling his arms to glare at Oikawa. The other chuckles because his face and his pout really isn’t scary at all. It’s almost cute. Oikawa wants to tell him that, wants to take back his insult. Meekly, he pulls him back while he laughs softly, swabbing his scent all over Hajime, gently caressing the man’s skin with his bottom lip.

Oikawa breathes in contentedly. Because Hajime smells like the rain after a long dry spell, smells like the sort of downpour that can turn a hot, humid day into an afternoon of haze and dark clouds. It’s clean and earthy and Oikawa can’t seem to get enough of it.

He feels a hand grip the back of his neck, and Oikawa doesn’t mind. What troubled him was the feeling of something wet and cold running along the spot between his neck and shoulders. He flinches when he feels it again. His already big eyes widen even more.

That was Hajime’s tongue.

“W-Wait, what are you…?” Oikawa stutters, his voice trailing off in confusion. He feels another rush of heat and blood all over his face.

Iwaizumi only hummed inquisitively as a response, like he’s asking him what’s wrong. _Something is definitely wrong here_. The hand behind his neck pulled him closer, Hajime dragging his tongue from the soft skin of the base of Oikawa’s neck up to his shoulders. Oikawa can’t imagine how red his face might be, literally feeling like there’s steam coming out of his ears. He calls Iwaizumi’s name again in question, not entirely sure on what to make out with what’s happening, or how he should react. Oikawa is at complete loss. Iwaizumi continues to trace his skin with his tongue, especially where his scent glands are, and the loose sweatshirt Oikawa is wearing only helped Hajime get the upper hand.

Soft, breathy giggles involuntarily escape from Oikawa’s lips. He’s surprised by the sound as well. “That tickles, you idiot,” he manages to say, tightening his shoulders in reflex. He writhes beneath Hajime, finding that he couldn’t control his laughter as Hajime goes on, obviously exerting less and less effort in pushing him away. Iwaizumi shifts over to the other side of his neckline, doing the same thing. “What are you? Some kind of lap dog?” he tries to joke, but his heart wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that he is both nervous and happy about all of this. “Hey, stop, Iwa-chan, it tickles!” he cries out again and attempts to push the weight off. Pursing his lips, Oikawa tries his best to stop himself from laughing out loud at the tickling sensation until he no longer couldn’t, bursting out in almost pained huffs and laughs.

Oikawa rolls to his side to decrease the scope of Iwaizumi’s intense marking, still unable to stop himself from laughing, clutching his stomach. That doesn’t stop Hajime however. He continues to mark Oikawa eagerly, and Oikawa can’t help but compare him to a Rottweiler whose owner had just arrived home after a business trip.

Hearing Oikawa catching his breath, Iwaizumi shifted his weight, giving Oikawa a few seconds to regain his composure. Oikawa’s chest heaves slowly, his loud boisterous laughter shifting gradually into short huffs and exhales, moving as much as his body would allow him under Hajime’s weight. It’s quiet when he meets with Iwaizumi’s dark green eyes – all that bottled-up frustration of wanting to touch Oikawa reflecting clearly over them. They didn’t do much after their fight, couldn’t really do much in the hospital either, mostly because Oikawa’s parents were there.

“You missed me that much?” Oikawa teases, eyes narrowing along with a gentle smile. He doesn’t mean anything by it and runs his hand through Hajime’s hair, secretly amused and at ease.

Iwaizumi throws him a mocking glare, like it’s already something obvious.

“No shit, asshole.”

His brown eyes light up before laughing again, both happy and astonished at Hajime’s honesty, pulling him down again into a tight embrace as a way to say that he missed Iwaizumi too, and that he missed having to touch him like that.

He knows for himself that he’s far from weak. He could stand up tall after falling down on his knees if he wanted to, man up if the situation needs him to, but how could Oikawa do that when it’s so convenient to be fragile whenever Hajime is around?

A content sigh escapes from his lips.

Oikawa doesn’t know what this is, or what they’re doing, if it’s right or wrong, if it’s normal or not, but Oikawa doesn’t want to hang on to the silly details anymore, not when he just decided that he’s going to love Hajime like it’s his last day with him.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Iwa-chan, what exactly did you do to our poor bathroom door?”

Oikawa wonders why it took so long for him to notice that the door to their bath is broken, and that he couldn’t even lock it or close it properly. He glances at the suspect lying on the bed, who doesn’t say anything in response and only purses his lips, his silence proving his guilt even further. Oikawa is still figuring out exactly how Hajime could’ve pulled out their perfectly stable doorknob out of place as he stares at the silver knob hanging wretchedly from the hole.

“Taking a bath?” Hajime asks, eyes glued on his phone.

“Didn’t you say earlier that I still smell like a hospital?” Oikawa answers, although he’s pretty sure Hajime had already gotten rid of that morbid hospital scent by rubbing his own scent on him.

Iwaizumi looks worriedly at him for one second before saying, “Don’t take too long.”

“Considering the overall reliability of this door, I think Iwa-chan can barge in easily in case I pass out or whatever.”

Oikawa senses a sudden change in Hajime’s aura. “Don’t joke around like that. I’m serious,” Iwaizumi says firmly, voice sheared and definite as he glares at him. Oikawa wonders if his Iwa-chan had caught a weird phobia of some sort.

The bathroom looks neater than usual, his mother cleaning it up this morning. It’s clad with fluffy teal rugs and quirky curtains Oikawa picked out from the department store because he figured Hajime’s bland tastes wouldn’t do much good to their apartment. Oikawa steps out of his sweats and pulls his shirt off just as warm water had finished filling up the tub.

He flinches at first when he steps into the hot water, then settles in comfortably when he had adjusted to the temperature. Woefully, Oikawa realizes that the past few months have been so entirely composed of hopelessness and heartache that the smallest tinge of comfort feels all foreign to him. But he can’t deny how great it is, because he and Hajime had gone back to their old ways, although Oikawa had noticed it somehow progressed into something else entirely. He shakes his head, reminding himself not to overthink, knowing all too well that it won’t do him any good. So he inclines deeper into the water until the water reached the bridge of his nose, the warm shroud of scented water calming his muscles and ironing out the confused tugs in his heart.

Oikawa relishes the hot steam filling his lungs when he sits up again, recalling the bitter cold that pinched his skin on the night he had a paroxysmal attack. The memory is all hazy when he tries to recall the event. All he could remember was that he had started feeling terrible after his last class ended, because he had taken more suppressants than he should have in the past eight hours. He couldn’t breathe and he tried hard not to collapse on his way home. Then he thought maybe Hajime’s scent would somehow soothe his racing heartbeat, but it made it worse somehow, and then he thought maybe a cold shower would fix it. Iwaizumi had come in when he was on the verge of passing out completely and the water had flooded the floors by then.

Turning back to peer at their broken door, Oikawa pauses. Then it finally sinks in. His face flushes when he thinks about Hajime scooping him up, butt naked and looking like death, then he thinks about Hajime having to clothe him and carry him to the emergency room. _I must’ve looked so pathetic,_ Oikawa says to himself, covering his face with his palms out of embarrassment. He shakes his head to get rid of the thoughts. _It already happened_ , he keeps repeating. _It already happened. I really shouldn’t get too worked up on this._ Oikawa is confused why his cheeks are red. They’ve seen each other naked before, but that was several year ago, and they were children and Oikawa wasn’t in love with him back then.

Or maybe he was.

Maybe his first thoughts of love simply hid between the crevices of his brain, silently flowing through his dreams until it finally flooded his head with weird chemicals that made his heart beat faster whenever Hajime looks at him. And Oikawa is pretty sure it’s not just their pheromones, or their stupid secondary genders, or his primeval instinct to bond with an alpha, because even as innocent kids, in some way, Oikawa had always treated Hajime differently than his other playmates.

Steam comes out from the bathroom as soon as Oikawa stumbles out, already dressed in a t-shirt and a new pair of sweatpants, hyperaware of Iwaizumi’s presence. His best friend’s gaze is impassive as always, so Oikawa offers him a small smile before walking to the living room.

It’s eleven o’clock when Oikawa turns on the television, willing to watch whatever movie is rolling on Channel 240 because he doesn’t feel like sleeping yet, and maybe a film would tire him out. He flops onto the couch, raising the volume up, eyes focused on the screen until his feet brushes with the sharp edges of a paper bag from beneath. Oikawa peers down curiously, seeing a wrapper peeking from under the couch. He kneels down to investigate and Oikawa ends up pulling a holiday-themed pack of milk bread.

“Where did this come from?” Oikawa whispers to himself, opening the paper wrapper. His eyes widen when he sees the brand. It’s from a famous bakery, known for its holiday pastries. He quickly flips it to look at the expiration date, and is distressed to find out that it had expired a day before. “People lined up for this shit…” he mutters again. He wants to eat it, still, but fears that it might upset his stomach.

Oikawa snaps his attention to Hajime, looking up from the mysterious bread when the man comes in, angrily stomping his way towards him with an annoyed scowl.

“Oikawa, shit, turn down the volume for god’s sakes. I’m—”

They both stop breathing. Oikawa figuring out only now that Hajime might have been the one to buy the milk bread he found. Iwaizumi sees him holding it.

“Oh, I forgot about that,” he says, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. “Throw it out. It’s probably gone bad.” Oikawa remains silent, waiting for a more satisfying explanation. “Look, I bought that on the night we went to the hospital, so don’t even think of eating it.”

“No,” Oikawa says firmly.

He glares confusedly at him. “Hah?”

“I’ll eat it.”

“You want to go back to the hospital again, dumbass?”

Oikawa pauses in thought. Maybe going back to the hospital isn’t so bad. Iwaizumi gets to take care of him more, and he’s nicer, and he does everything he tells him to. That’s not a very bad picture, and Oikawa honestly wouldn’t mind.

“I know Iwa-chan went through a lot to get this for me! I’ll still eat it!” Oikawa yells out, hugging the holiday milk bread in his arms.

Iwaizumi stomps angrily to his direction. “Are you a fucking idiot?” He tries to pry it away from Oikawa, who held it close so Hajime wouldn’t be able to snatch it away. He curls up in the couch so his knees would add as extra protection. “Oikawa, give that back or I swear I’ll…”

Oikawa had closed his eyes, but snaps open as soon as Iwaizumi grew quiet. Drawing a deep breath, Iwaizumi lurches forward and attempts to wrestle the milk bread out of Oikawa’s grasp. His heavy hands uncoils Oikawa’s limbs, climbing on top of him to limit Oikawa’s movement.

“Iwa-chan! Get off! You’re heavy!”

Bringing his weight down, Iwaizumi pounces on him as Oikawa stubbornly held the milk bread like it’s some kind of treasure. He grows impatient, and Iwaizumi regrets grappling Oikawa when he catches a whiff of that absurdly sweet citrus scent that he knows all too well. Iwaizumi stops suddenly, looking down at the young man who has his eyes squeezed shut, the pack of milk bread confined within the locks of his arms, determined to eat the damn thing. Iwaizumi bites his lip, his pupils dilating, and with brute force, finally seizes the milk bread away. It looks disfigured by the time he gets it.

“I’ll buy you a thousand more of these holiday milk bread! I’ll go right now if I have to! So stop acting like a fucking kid already!”

Oikawa, shocked at the other’s growling, watches as Hajime disappears into their kitchen, hearing a loud thud when Hajime threw the bread into the trash can. He comes back with an angry expression, and Oikawa can’t help but let out a loud laugh. “You now owe me one thousand packs of milk bread, Iwa-chan!”

Hajime rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Go dry your hair,” he tells Oikawa. He expects Oikawa to call him mom again, or something along those lines, but he doesn’t, muttering out a loving ‘thank you’ before going to the bathroom to get his hair dryer.

The other man shakes his head, brow creasing, and a loud sigh slicing through the impending rut Iwaizumi knew was coming sooner or later. Oikawa had caught him off guard again. The guy’s still in the middle of his heat, and Iwaizumi wants to punch himself because he should’ve known better. Frankly, he doesn’t trust himself around Oikawa like this, and the tightening boxers beneath his pants is starting to piss him off.

He wants to get rid of it. He wants to get rid of this rut before it escalates.

But he hears a loud buzzing sound from the bathroom, along with soft humming. Oikawa must be drying his hair just as he told him to. Pressing his lips together, Iwaizumi grunts in utmost frustration, running his hands all over his face angrily because he feels his heart beat quicker and blood rushing to every part of his body. It’s confusing, his mind numbing slowly. There’s one thing he knew he felt though – lust so heavy mixing in with guilt that he could barely breathe whenever he remembers Oikawa’s tempting scent. Iwaizumi rubs his eyes roughly, pacing around the room like a man on the brink of insanity.

Iwaizumi realizes he won’t be able to have enough privacy to fix the problem in his pants, so he drops on the floor in pure dissatisfaction, and began doing push-ups until he sweats and the chemicals and adrenaline rushing through his veins are sated.

“Iwa-chan, what are you doing?”

The man in question almost hits his face on the floor, losing his balance in surprise as if he had been caught stealing red-handed. He doesn’t stop though, and even quickened his pace, because he feels the symptoms of his rut again when Oikawa scoots closer to sit right in front of him – his scent and his goddamn pheromones testing Iwaizumi’s rationality once again.

Oikawa crosses his legs, placing himself in front of Iwaizumi.

“Why are you doing push-ups at this hour?” he asks again, resting his jaw on both his palms as he watches Hajime interestedly.

Iwaizumi catches a glimpse of his curious brown eyes.

“I just… felt like it,” Iwaizumi says in between grunts and push-ups.

The other chuckles softly. “You’re so weird.”

Oikawa smiles, dotingly watching Iwaizumi who decided to exercise out of the blue. The room is dim, and their perpetually open bathroom is the only light source, but it’s enough for Oikawa to notice the sweat on Hajime’s temples.

“Aren’t you watching something on TV?” Iwaizumi asks, hoping Oikawa and his outrageously sweet scent would leave the premises, because frankly his push-ups aren’t doing much good as long as the guy is around excreting odorous chemicals so generously.

“I am,” he replies calmly, unaware of what his scent is doing to Hajime. Oikawa does not move from his position, admiring Hajime’s strong hands braced against the floor. He hears the muffled sounds of the television from the living room, but he doesn’t want to admit he likes watching Hajime more.

Iwaizumi stops midway, looking up at Oikawa. His eyes darken. A drop of sweat rolls down from his head to his chin before dripping onto the floor. The eye contact made Oikawa flinch, but he laughs it off.

“It’s that scary face again,” Oikawa says, eyes squinting as he smiles. He idly wipes the sweat from Hajime’s forehead with his thumb, causing Hajime to halt entirely. “Hm? Why’d you stop?”

Iwaizumi couldn’t muster up a respond, his eyes wide open, a spark breaking something in his brain because all he could think about is how soft Oikawa’s hand was and how he wants Oikawa to touch him more and—

He jumps up, taking Oikawa by surprise. He’s about to ask what’s wrong, but Hajime runs swiftly to the bathroom, banging the door over and over, forgetting that the knob is useless. Growling in frustration, he banged the door one last time, only for it to bounce back open again.

Oikawa stands up in worry and is about to enter when Hajime yells out, “I’m fine!” Iwaizumi curses, slapping his own cheeks. He schools his voice down, wants to calm his overall energy because Oikawa might get the wrong idea. “Just leave me alone for a bit,” he mutters calmly this time, dragging Oikawa’s fluffy bathroom rug beneath the door so it would stay in place.

“Are you sure?” Oikawa asks from the other side. He sounds so worried. Iwaizumi didn’t want that, so he responds with words of reassurance, telling him he’ll just take a quick shower.

As soon as he hears Oikawa walk out, Iwaizumi shifts all of his weight on the tiled wall and proceeds to relieve himself. It’s all too embarrassing, feeling self-conscious when he’s the only one who knows what he’s doing. He prefers running five miles instead of doing this, biting his bottom lip and trying to think of _anything_ that would take his mind off Oikawa, but the more he tries the more he _thinks_ of him, and the more he thinks of Oikawa, the more guilt begins to well up inside his stomach. But even so, his heart thunders as he pushes the heel of his hand right where he needs it, because he can’t stop that aching feeling in his crotch no matter what he does. Holding back a loud groan, Iwaizumi breathes out a soft noise and series of curses instead, disliking the filthy sound of his skin brushing over his palm. It seems so loud inside the small room and he hates it.

“Holy _fuck_ ,” Iwaizumi hisses, disappointed at himself, panting almost as much as he does after volleyball training. But there’s no pain, no aching muscles, and instead there’s just this high-strung feeling in his head and body and the only thing he wants to do now is to punch himself. Clumsily, Iwaizumi opens the cabinet above the sink to get a new roll of tissue paper to clean himself up with.  

Several bottles of medicine and disinfectant fell on the sink, Iwaizumi accidentally nudging an old roll of thick adhesive bandages which seemed to be the only thing providing balance among the items inside. A certain bottle catches his eyes. Iwaizumi grabs it from the sink, noticing it’s already empty.

 **Sevastamir**  
HEAT SUPPRESSING TABS  
_Usual dosage: Twice daily. Ingest 2 days before cycle._  
See package insert for dosage information.

Iwaizumi frowns as he almost crushes the hollow pill bottle in his hands. He straightens up to see his eyes waver in the mirror in front of him, then he swallows the huge pinch of guilt stuck in his throat. Quickly, he puts the mess of old medical supplies that fell on the sink back to the cabinet before clearing his mind off with a shower.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi had always believed that Oikawa simply likes to reside somewhere between his thoughts and his dreams. But that’s not the case at all, not when Oikawa is lying next to him, clinging onto Iwaizumi, comfortably warm under the same covers.

“I want to sleep next to you.”

Oikawa had said it the moment the lights were turned off. Before Iwaizumi could respond, the other didn’t waste a second, didn’t wait for Hajime’s rejection (although if he had the chance, Iwaizumi would’ve said “sure” without any second thoughts), and he didn’t wait for Hajime to move over. Oikawa pushed himself against Hajime to claim more space as Hajime complained and growled angrily at him for being “an absolutely insufferable dumbass”. But just as many times before, Iwaizumi didn’t shy away and even tucked him within the small space between them, welcoming Oikawa’s warmth.

Despite Oikawa’s coercive request, he doesn’t sleep. Not just yet. He talks instead – about today, about everything, about the movie he had just finished watching, which he keeps forgetting the title of. Iwaizumi hears Oikawa yawn before he scoots his head closer.

“Night of the Living Dead?” Iwaizumi says while Oikawa is still trying to think of the title.

“No,” Oikawa says for the third time. He stares at the ceiling with Hajime, both of them looking at nothing but darkness. Oikawa lies a little lower on the pillow, so his hair would sometimes brush against Hajime’s cheek. “I told you it’s a crime thriller.”

Iwaizumi turns his head slightly to take a quick glance. “Night of the Living Dead is a thriller.”

“It’s not!” he objects strongly, shaking his head, enough to tickle Iwaizumi’s jaw. “Anyway, the movie is about this guy who videotapes bad things happening in the city, and serious stuff happens. You know? Same actor from the Day After Tomorrow? Night… Night- _something_.”

“Nighthawks,” Hajime suggests another title, not entirely caring about the plot anymore and just spews more titles on top of his head. “Night Train, Nightcall, Nightbreed, Night—”

“Ah! It’s Nightcrawler!” Oikawa shouts in triumph, smiling wide as he swivels his neck to look at Hajime. “You should watch it. Creepy, violent, kinda upsetting, really. But you can’t keep your eyes off it, it just… takes all of your attention, makes you wanna watch more. I don’t wanna spoil much. It’s super cool, though. Totally your type of movie, Iwa-chan.”

A small smile pulls Iwaizumi’s lips. Oikawa doesn’t seem to realize he had described himself with his own words. “Mhm. If I have time,” he hums in reply. There should be a rerun tomorrow. Iwaizumi keeps that in mind.

Just as his tired green eyes involuntarily close, Oikawa’s energy depletes gradually, muttering sleepy commentary about the movie, and keeps reminding Hajime that he owes him one thousand packs of milk bread until his sentences just slip further and further away from making sense. When Oikawa stops talking completely, Hajime stirs awake, glancing at the other boy from the corner of his eye.

Oikawa isn’t clinging to him like a leech. It could mean a few things, but Iwaizumi already had an idea. Before he could ask though, Oikawa tugs the sheets away until it barely covered Hajime. Iwaizumi sits up irritably, losing the slight drowsiness when he feels the cold air bite his toes and his exposed skin. He glares down at the messy mop of brown hair peeking from the edges of the comforter.

“Oikawa,” he hisses, indignant. He knows he’s awake. Oikawa _knows_ that Hajime _knows_ he’s awake. “You fucking asshole.” Iwaizumi tries to yank the heavy covers cocooned around Oikawa’s body several times, but he knew somewhere within those sheets Oikawa had his hands tightly gripping the covers into place.

“It’s cold,” is all Oikawa says. His voice is soft and light and sleepy and Iwaizumi had to stop himself from shaking the young man awake. Changing his tactics, and instead of violently trying to pull the covers, he tugs Oikawa’s arm lightly as he lies back down. Iwaizumi reels him in, softly like the sands on the shore being hauled by the waves. It’s a different approach, and Oikawa seems to prefer it. Hajime draws Oikawa’s shoulders in, slowly, gently, until their eyes meet.

Iwaizumi lied. Oikawa isn’t as “insufferable” as he makes him out to be. If there’s one word to describe him – to describe _them_ , it’d be “easy”. Even after what happened, or what _will_ happen in the future, Iwaizumi is so sure it’s easy enough to fall back into their old, innocent, childhood habits.

“Oikawa, if you wanted me to do this, just fucking say so instead of letting my ass freeze off.”

With those words, Oikawa can’t help but smile and loosens his grip on the sheets, letting Hajime crawl under the covers with him. Then Hajime falls back into the pillows, his arms wrapping around Oikawa’s shivering body. His embrace is warm and comfortable and so very familiar against the frosty night. Oikawa misses it so much he almost wants to cry – he misses the heat between Hajime’s chest and his own, misses the fingers that unconsciously rubs circles on his back, misses the slow and warm breaths against him, misses slinging his leg over Hajime’s hip. He misses how Hajime doesn’t mind.

Oikawa giggles lightly, thinking about Hajime’s magical mind-reading powers. He had stolen those covers for a reason.

“I wish I could do that too,” Oikawa murmurs, shifting closer. Hajime can tell he’s upset. “Reading minds, I mean.”

Oikawa can read him just as well as he could read Oikawa, Iwaizumi believes. “Can’t you, though?” Iwaizumi asks quietly as he dips his head down, enough so that his bottom lip could brush against Oikawa’s hair. His scent is always so mild and refreshing during the late nights and early mornings. It doesn’t induce ruts or anything out of the ordinary. It’s just _easy_ , and Iwaizumi likes it, yet he doesn’t admit it. “Tell me what I’m thinking.”

Oikawa covers his face by burrowing into Hajime’s chest, so his voice is a bit muffled when he speaks. “Something like ‘I wish this dumbass would fall asleep already’ or ‘I wonder if Oikawa-kun is okay’ or—”

“Are _you_ okay?” Iwaizumi cuts him off to ask what has been repeating over and over in his mind, surprised because Oikawa absolutely hit the bullseye, proving further that he has the same telepathic powers as him.

Oikawa tightens his grip on Iwaizumi’s shirt. He must’ve sensed his restlessness. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You don’t seem okay,” Iwaizumi insists, his eyes barely open. “I can feel it.”

“Wanna hear my heartbeat to make sure?”

Iwaizumi grows curious at the offer, raising one brow although Oikawa wouldn’t be able to see his reaction. He takes a deep breath and nods, making a small sound. Oikawa shifts from their position, inching upwards to cradle Hajime’s head. He pulls him close to his heart.

“It’s fast,” Iwaizumi whispers worriedly, his eyes widening when he notices that it’s beginning to beat even faster. Reflexively, he squeezes the younger man a bit tighter.

“Hmm, I wonder why?” Oikawa hums happily, sleep obvious in his voice. There’s something about his tone that assures Iwaizumi that he shouldn’t worry. He shifts into a more comfortable spot, the sounds of their skin and fabric shuffling against each other breaking the evening’s stillness.

It’s an unusual position. Oikawa is used to hearing Hajime’s heartbeat, not the other way around. He finds their newfound bed situation cozy and different, combing his hands through Hajime’s stubborn but surprisingly soft spikes. It has always been Hajime keeping him in place, has always been the one to wrap his arms around him. He always lets Hajime take control.

This time, though, Hajime lets him cradle him. He thinks it will help Oikawa calm down, help Oikawa fall asleep. The night dies as well as their thoughts. Hajime falls asleep to the sound of Oikawa’s heartbeat, as Oikawa falls asleep to Hajime’s warm breath against his neck.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Oikawa can’t make it today?”

Iwaizumi stares briefly at the man who asked, sitting himself down across him. Matsukawa throws him a fond smile and raised eyebrows, bumping fists and patting backs before Iwaizumi settles down on the table. The young man next to Matsukawa does the same, but messes with Iwaizumi’s hair right after. Iwaizumi greets Hanamaki just as happily. It’s been a while since he had seen both of them together like this, especially Matsukawa. Their schedules were just too conflicting.

“Doctor says he should still rest,” Iwaizumi explains, pushing the chair a little closer to the table. Hanamaki is sitting across him, sipping on a half-empty glass of iced coffee.

“What happened anyway? That guy hasn’t been responding to our chats,” Hanamaki asks, genuinely worried as Oikawa has always been active on their group LINE chats, but recently he had grown quieter, even on his other social media accounts. Nothing worries his fans more than his online inactivity.

Honestly, Iwaizumi doesn’t feel like explaining everything, particularly because he doesn’t like relieving the moment. Oikawa on the brink of death in the tub playing again and again in his brain isn’t exactly a very positive memory. But he agreed to have lunch with them, he sort of expected them to ask at least this much.

“Too much suppressants,” he says simply.

Matsukawa lets out a sigh, like he isn’t surprised at all. “Figures,” he starts, shaking his head sullenly. “Oikawa has always been the type to overdo things.”

Iwaizumi frowns, not entirely sure on how to react. Of all people, these two knew Iwaizumi has always been there if Oikawa goes beyond his own limitations. But this time, he wasn’t able to do anything, and it kills him every time he’s reminded of his uselessness. Iwaizumi wonders if they’re blaming him with what happened with Oikawa.

“Everything’s fine now, though, right?” Hanamaki chips in, who had noticed Iwaizumi’s change of expression.

Iwaizumi nods, pursing his lips. “I guess.” He catches the attention of the waitress when she comes strolling by, ordering a hot drink to help him warm up.

“You two got everyone worried, not attending the last few classes before winter break.” Matsukawa takes out his phone, and he swipes his fingers several times before showing the screen to Iwaizumi. “His fans are going crazy.” He squints his eyes at the screen, finding the brightness settings a bit too much for his tastes. Iwaizumi sees Oikawa’s inactive twitter account, bombarded with worried comments, mostly from his female followers. “Oikawa should put up a press release soon,” Matsukawa says, smiling a bit. “Give the lovely ladies some closure.”

“Let him do what he wants,” Iwaizumi says simply. “I doubt he’d want people to know anyway.” His throat heats up when he drinks his cup of coffee.

It didn’t take long before the subject of their conversation shifted from Oikawa to something else – volleyball practice, exams, plans for winter break, and things like that. Iwaizumi learns that Matsukawa will be visiting his family before Christmas comes chiming in, and that Hanamaki will be staying in the city. After a while, Iwaizumi had finished his drink, and orders a new one.

“Lay off the coffee, Iwaizumi. You already look like you didn’t get enough sleep for the past few days,” Hanamaki says with a grin too wide to be considered pure.

Iwaizumi glares at the man across him, although the bags under his eyes lessened the impact. “Oikawa keeps hogging the sheets,” he replies casually.

“Oh? You sleep together?” Matsukawa asks with one brow raised, smirking.

He rolls his eyes. “You ask as if Oikawa hadn’t told you already.”

“As expected of Iwaizumi-kun.” Hanamaki chuckles. “You know us all too well.”

“It’s a nightmare,” Iwaizumi starts, rubbing his neck. “Living with that guy.” His friends look at each other before letting him continue. “His nesting is a pain in the ass. It gets worse every month. He is ten times more annoying, ten times whinier, ten times hungrier, and he… he…” Iwaizumi stops before he lets his words slip out. It’s not a good idea to tell them about Oikawa’s zero effort in masking his scent around the house

“You never thought about moving?” Matsukawa asks. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow at him before swallowing down the nervousness in his throat. Hanamaki had asked the same thing before. “If it’s such a nightmare, why are you still staying with him?”

They all got quiet, the two men waiting for an interesting reaction.

Iwaizumi turns away.

But then Hanamaki snickers. “It can’t be helped. These two are just so inseparable,” he says with a chuckle, his tone suggesting that it’s actually a compliment. He scratches his head of pastel hair and sighs. “Almost to an instinctual level.” Hanamaki’s eyes flicker over to Iwaizumi, who remains silent and is staring back at him. “You don’t know the reason why you’re with him, or why you’re staying. Shit, maybe you do, you just haven’t figured it out yet.”

Iwaizumi wipes his nose in distaste, heart clenching. Why are they talking about Oikawa again anyway? And what did he mean by that? Not figuring it out? He scoffs inwardly. Iwaizumi is about to retort, until he feels like something had captured his tongue, and he can’t gather up a word. But he recovers quickly and straightens up in his seat.

His lips twitch. “You don’t get it,” Iwaizumi almost snarls. What’s keeping him from leaving? What’s making him stay? There’s that question again, the one he doesn’t even know the answer to. His confused eyes dart over his friends’ grinning faces and raised eyebrows, looking like they know something. Iwaizumi breaks off, scowling down on his empty cup of coffee, scrutinizing the brown beads left of the bottom as if the answer is right there. He wonders if Oikawa is the same, or if his other friends ask him the same things.

He clutches the cup harder.

“You don’t get it,” he repeats.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s been an hour and a half, and Oikawa still hasn’t found a channel interesting enough to serve as background noise, finding it especially hard to focus on a show when his abdomen is doing cartwheels and his thoughts never seem to lighten up. Oikawa just wants to stay still and curled up in his burrito of sheets and comforters. He’s always like that during his heat – sad, immobile, and anxious.

His ears perk up when he hears the front door open, and as much as he wants to run down the hall to throw himself at Hajime, his body doesn’t seem to cooperate.

“I’m home,” he hears Hajime yell out from the entrance.

Oikawa struggles to sit up from his fetal position on the couch. “Welcome home!” he shouts from the top of his lungs, causing his voice to sound strained. Soon enough, Iwaizumi hurries into the living room, wearing a rather worried expression. Oikawa rubs his eyes, the bags under them too evident against his fair skin.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi greets, walking over to the young man, bending his knees next to the couch. He’s looking all flushed and sweaty again. Thankfully, the sheets help in masking Oikawa’s heat, so it’s not affecting Iwaizumi that much. “I got you something.”

The tense lines on Oikawa’s face soften. “What’s this?” he asks, opening up a huge paper bag full of food – rice crackers, tongari chips, dorayaki with whipped cream, corn puffs, and most importantly, holiday milk bread. He quirks one brow at Iwaizumi, who looks away. “Is this some kind of offering?”

“Hanamaki told me…” Hajime trails off, scratching the back of his head. “He told me I should give you food and stuff… while you’re, uh, in heat, or something like that.”

Oikawa is silent for one second, until a loud laugh spills from his lips.

For Iwaizumi, the sound is refreshing to hear, then he snaps back to reality and reminds himself to punch Hanamaki the next they’ll meet.

“What year is it again?” Oikawa says, thinking how funny it is to see an embarrassed Iwaizumi. “Because as far as I know, offering food to omegas in heat was the trend during the Heian period.” He barks out another abrupt laugh, letting the snacks fall to his lap when he unloads the paper bag. “It’s a good thing you’re not a history major, Iwa-chan.” Oikawa leans back, now sitting properly on the sofa. “And did you just say Makki told you? By now you should know not to take him seriously.”

“Shut up, I know, fuck, it’s stupid, forget it,” Iwaizumi grumbles angrily and rolls his eyes, feeling stupid, although happy because his stupidity made Oikawa’s face light up and his lips to finally tilt upward. He walks to the kitchen, or to the bedroom, _anywhere_ as long as Oikawa can’t see his face.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls out, his voice gentler. Hajime stops walking. “ _Iwa-chan_ ,” he calls him again until he finally turns around. As soon as he did, Oikawa smiles at him – the warmest he could muster.

“Thank you.”

Green eyes widen. Iwaizumi feels his mouth hanging open a bit and snaps it shut, completely at loss for words. He feels off-balance somehow. Oikawa’s smile made his knees weak, made him like that – breathless and frozen. Iwaizumi couldn’t believe it. It’s just a _smile_ – something Oikawa had showed him countless times.

There’s something wrong. His heart just wants to explode out of his chest.

“Great job! Your remaining balance is now nine-hundred ninety-nine packs of milk bread,” Oikawa states happily. He giggles again, tearing the wrappers off to stuff himself with rice crackers and milk bread.

Iwaizumi purses his lips to stop a smile, realizing Oikawa’s bright, happy bursts of sound is something he’ll never get tired of hearing. He leaves him snacking for a while and goes on ahead to change his clothes. It’s warmer inside their apartment, and he’s been dying to take off his thermal jacket.

“Whoa there, put some clothes on, Iwa-chan! You’re gonna get a cold!” Oikawa blurts out in frantic worry when he walks into the kitchen to see Hajime rummaging their fridge wearing only a pair of sweatpants – Oikawa’s sweatpants. The original owner of the said pants glares at Hajime, pouting behind his back. “And those are my mine, by the way!”

“All my clothes are in the laundry,” Iwaizumi says casually, taking out some leftover cabbage and salmon steaks, as well as some plastic containers. He doesn’t bother to look at Oikawa. “Thanks to a certain someone.”

Oikawa crosses his arms and pouts. “Take that off! You’re gonna stretch it, Iwa-chan!” His maroon tracksuit bottoms looks weird on Hajime. It’s longer and goes past his ankles, but it looks funnily tight around the other’s thicker hips and thighs. He sees Hajime placing the stuff from the fridge on the counter. Mirroring Oikawa, Hajime crosses his arms too, his hard muscles and tanned skin appearing even more toned than usual.

“Didn’t you say I should put some clothes on? Now you want me to take them off?”

He narrows his eyes at him. “You make it sound like I’m some kind of pervert.” Iwaizumi’s face is blank when Oikawa checks his expression. He sighs in surrender, shaking his head. “Fine, fine, it’s my fault, I’ll do the laundry tomorrow.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi says as he prepares to cook.

“What’s for dinner?” Oikawa asks, leaning his elbows on the counter next to the ingredients Hajime had put out. He looks up at Hajime, who doesn’t seem very cold despite being shirtless during winter.

“Nabe.”

Oikawa drones merrily, sighing at the thought of Hajime’s hot pot. “Sounds perfect.” Then he stands up abruptly. “We should bring out the kotatsu!”

Iwaizumi presses his lips together. “You know that thing has been malfunctioning since last year.”

“Let’s buy a new one.” He eyes Oikawa cautiously. “We can buy online.”

For the next several minutes, Iwaizumi observes Oikawa amusedly as he dices the vegetables into smaller pieces, listening to his yapping and each time he’d huff out a short response or a dry insult. Oikawa offers to help a couple of times, but Hajime only tells him to “stay as still as fucking possible” if he had no intention of leaving the kitchen. But Oikawa is stubborn, always has been, and keeps asking what he can do. Hajime lets him wash the cabbage and mushrooms in the sink. He makes sure to keep all the knives away from him.

The lovely aroma of herbs and seafood mixing in together drifts past Oikawa’s nose as he waits for Hajime to finish cooking. He likes waiting like this, watching Iwaizumi working by the stove. It’s almost calming – the air heating up wonderfully, getting rid of that winter chill.

Once Iwaizumi is done preparing the vegetables and meat, he tells Oikawa to wait in the living room. It’s not very long before Hajime returns with two steaming bowls of nabe.

Oikawa doesn’t think twice and digs in.

It’s refreshing and simple, and it definitely helped lighten Oikawa’s sour mood. He eats more than usual, which Iwaizumi had expected, so he made sure he added in more of Oikawa’s favorite ingredients like beef, shungiku and carrots. They eat by the television set, sitting comfortably by the base of their sofa, watching a news channel. Oikawa loses track of the number of dead elderly bodies the news anchors had reported before Hajime gets up to take their empty bowls back to the kitchen.

“Now, about that kotatsu…”

Oikawa stands up excitedly and returns with his laptop, placing it on the coffee table before pulling the furniture closer. Iwaizumi hasn’t seen that coffee table in a while. Ever since Oikawa started nesting he had always pushed it aside to one corner so he’ll have more space for his nest.

“This looks big enough for two,” Oikawa says, gesturing Hajime to come closer and take a look. He crosses his legs under the low table. “It’s on sale, too!”

Iwaizumi sits behind him, perching his chin on Oikawa’s shoulder. Oikawa’s scent is calmer today, and Iwaizumi assumes he had already reached his heat’s quiescent period already. He couldn’t feel any more grateful.

“That one looks better,” Iwaizumi tells him simply, poking the screen with his finger. Oikawa tries hard not to sound too happy. He asks himself if this really is Hajime next to him, since it’s usually Oikawa who initiates the skinship. He feels Iwaizumi faintly marking him, noticing it only when the hairs on his neck stood up.

“If we buy this now, we’ll be able to get it next Monday.”

“Go for it – wait, you’re using your mother’s credit card?” Iwaizumi asks with concern. “We can split you know.”

Oikawa sticks his tongue out. “I’m sure mom won’t mind. It’s only 13,000 yen.” He clicks the shopping cart button and proceeds to type in the payment and delivery details.

They stay like that for a while, with Oikawa twiddling absently with his laptop keyboard, occasionally glancing at Hajime whenever he shows him weird videos his followers keep tagging him into. Most of them were cool volleyball videos from international teams, the others are just compilations of funny cats and Shiba Inu videos and different variations of the Star Trek trailers. When the air begins to cool up just as the night passes deeper, Hajime finally feels the need to cover up, so he takes Oikawa’s abandoned sheets from the couch and struggles to warm himself with it.

“Feeling cold now, are we?” Oikawa teases. He seems to have made himself comfortable, legs crossed, back slumping back against Hajime’s chest. The other sits just as comfortably on the floor, his back against the base of the couch. He watches Oikawa go through his social media accounts, not wanting to admit how Oikawa’s body is more than an acceptable source of warmth.

“Did someone just paste your face onto an Alexander the Great picture?” Iwaizumi asks in distaste, chuckling in disbelief when he sees the aforementioned image in Oikawa’s feed. “Your fans are weird.”

“I’m the Great King after all,” Oikawa replies smugly. “It really caught on, huh? Chibi-chan started it, but I didn’t expect it to go this far.” He cranes back a little, putting more of his weight on Hajime. “Do you want a nickname too?”

He huffs and looks away. “No thanks.”

“Iwa-chan can be my court jester.”

“Fuck you.”

“How about Lord Commander of the Kingsguard?”

“That’s way too long.”

“It fits you,” Oikawa says more seriously, lips curving into a smile, brown eyes fixed on his laptop screen.

Hajime tilts his head, obviously not familiar with the reference. “I don’t get it.”

“A kingsguard is like, well, a royal bodyguard,” Oikawa explains as he switches from tab to tab on his browser to check his SNS accounts. “As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, your duty is to protect the king.”

“Huh,” Iwaizumi breathes out, not completely sure how to react to that, thinking how he doesn’t deserve such a title. He looks down on Oikawa’s fast, typing fingers.

“You shouldn’t blame yourself so much,” Oikawa says suddenly, as if he had just read Iwaizumi’s thoughts.

Hajime stiffens, his brows furrowing involuntarily. He doesn’t say anything else, and the other stay silent for a while.

Several minutes trickle by. The news segment has ended and the room is now being filled in with the soft acoustic soundtrack and solemn voices from a winter drama currently playing on TV. Oikawa’s legs begin to fall asleep, so he takes it as an opportunity to stretch his legs before bending it forward a bit. He drags his laptop onto his lap, and peeks up at his comfortable human reclining chair.

“Do you think it’ll snow?”

“It doesn’t snow here the way it does back home,” Hajime replies. His eyes drift away from the laptop screen, focusing more on drama as it drones on with its melodramatic dialogue. “I sort of miss it.” Hajime pauses and smiles slightly. “Winters back home, I mean. And my mom’s ramen and sukiyaki.”

Oikawa’s laptop is at fifteen percent, so the screen is dimmer. There he sees Hajime’s smile reflecting from behind him. He barks out an airy laugh, secretly wishing Iwaizumi would smile more generously around him.

Closing his eyes, Oikawa whispers, letting himself melt within Iwaizumi’s warmth.

“I miss home, too.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Iwa-chan, let’s go out!”

The moment Oikawa said those words, Iwaizumi knew there would be no escape.

“Now?” Iwaizumi asks, groaning, not a single hint of excitement within him. He’s the stay-at-home type when Christmas comes jingling in – or _skiing_ type. Man, he misses skiing. Thinking of the huge crowds is enough to make his nose scrunch in disgust. “We’d look weird.”

“How so?” the other asks innocently, shuffling through the dresser, looking for warmer clothes to wear. It’s less than ten degrees outside, so Oikawa picks one of his thickest coats. He walks back to where Hajime has been sitting, unmoving. “It doesn’t matter. We’re just going out to eat.”

There’ll be hundreds of couples in the streets, Iwaizumi is sure of it. He considers the holidays as a second Valentine’s Day, another reason for pretty girls to get all dolled up for a spectacular, magical night out, wearing their strongest perfume that’s supposed to attract their mates. It’s that time of the year when the men would have to plan out an itinerary carefully – expensive dinners, perfectly timed fireworks, extravagant gifts, holiday selfies to post online.

It’s eight-forty in the evening, twenty-fourth of December.

Iwaizumi is wearing a frown and a dark red scarf when Oikawa drags him out of the house to see the Christmas lights illuminating the Marunouchi Building - that pretty skyscraper just across Tokyo Station. The incandescent lights spans from the north all the way to Hibiya Station, creating a glistening walkway of nothing but fairy lights, providing life to the evidently dead wintertime trees. There’s a Christmas market lining up the sides of the streets, extending up until the circular courtyard where people appear to concentrate.

Tokyo’s sparkling nightscape is absolutely breathtaking, and Iwaizumi can’t deny that.

“Iwa-chan, hurry up,” he hears Oikawa whine, pulling Hajime’s hand from his coat pockets. He tows him away from where he stood. “I’m feeling ramen today, how about you?” he asks, beaming brightly. Before Hajime could open his mouth to speak, Oikawa hauls the man away excitedly. “Great! Ramen it is!”

Oikawa pretends to navigate the labyrinth of restaurants within the well-known Ramen Street beneath Tokyo Station, although Iwaizumi is pretty certain the young man had already researched and scouted the place beforehand. Watching Oikawa silently scanning the shop signs, Hajime lets himself be steered amongst the thick crowd.

If there’s anything brighter than Tokyo’s illuminations, it’s Oikawa’s proud, expectant smile when he pushes Hajime inside a certain ramen restaurant.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen when he sees the posters by the shop’s windows.

“I know you’ve been homesick lately,” Oikawa starts, his voice softer and deeper. “This place is known for its Sendai Beef’s Tongue ramen! Just like the ones we eat back home! The same ones Auntie used to make!” He lures him in further, giddy and jumpy like a child dragging his parents into the toy section.

There’s already a lot of people inside, but they manage to squeeze into a long, rectangular table. In the light of the ramen restaurant, Iwaizumi admits that Oikawa looks livelier, happier. He scans the menu immediately when he realizes he had been staring at Oikawa too much. The menu offers pretty good options, but Oikawa didn’t drag him in there to order anything else than their hometown’s trademark cow’s tongue ramen, so they skip the menu altogether.

“It looks exactly like the ones back home,” Iwaizumi says, genuinely amazed. The soup is as clear and delicate as his childhood memories, and when he takes a sip, he can really tell the rich taste comes from scallions and noodles fresh from Miyagi. The infamous cow’s tongue hides beneath the broth, and Iwaizumi takes a bite. Oikawa laughs when he sees his green eyes sparkle.

“How is it?” Oikawa leans in closer. His bowl hasn’t arrived yet, but he lets Hajime take the first taste.

“It’s _great_ , holy _shit_ ,” Iwaizumi mutters in awe before hurrying to get another bite.

Hajime’s honesty is simply too refreshing – and fucking _adorable_ , Oikawa thinks. He becomes aware that his own bowl of ramen is taking too long, and he’s getting jealous. The thick, flavorful aroma permeating throughout the shop doesn’t help his growling stomach. “Iwa-chaaaan,” he whines finally, puffing his cheeks with air. “I want a bite too!”

“Mm, okay,” the other simply whirrs. Hajime pulls up a short strain of ramen noodles and chucks his chopsticks into Oikawa’s mouth.

Oikawa almost chokes. “How cruel! You almost stabbed my throat, you brute!” Oikawa yells out, tears in the corner of his eyes, his mouth still half-full. He fans his tongue because the noodles are too hot, as he swallows it quickly without tasting it to get rid of the burning sensation. But his anger quickly dispels when Iwaizumi breathes out a boyish laugh, flashing a smile – a soft, genuine smile that made his eyes squint. There’s something backflipping inside Oikawa’s stomach, and it’s not that reproductive realignment bullshit this time. His face is red when he looks away.

Two minutes later, Oikawa’s bowl is placed in front of him. It’s the same exact order as Hajime’s, and he pinches a small slice of beef tendon between his chopsticks, along with some noodles, blowing it with his frigid, visible breath until it’s cool enough.

“Oh my god,” Oikawa comments, still chewing, eyes closing involuntarily at the utter richness of the ramen. “The meat just melts in your mouth…”

Iwaizumi watches Oikawa’s expressions closely. Once Oikawa’s full attention is entirely devoted to his bowl of savory ramen, Iwaizumi can finally stare all he wanted. He purses his lips tightly when Oikawa leans in forward, his soft brown hair inconveniently brushing against his eyelids, his neck craning to catch the noodles before it slips from his chopsticks.

“Your fringe is getting longer,” Iwaizumi observes, his gaze still locked into place. He can’t stop looking at the brown locks covering the sides of his cheeks.

Oikawa stops moving altogether, his heart coming into a complete halt when Hajime tucks his hair behind his ear just as he’s about to take another bite. His head snaps toward Iwaizumi – who appears to be too calm about all of this. It’s a good thing he isn’t chewing on anything at that moment, because surely he would’ve spit out his ramen one way or another.

“You should get it cut,” Hajime says with a small smirk. Then he lets his hand dip down, as he eats the rest of what’s left on his ramen bowl, leaving a flushed Oikawa next to him.

The truth is Iwaizumi may have noticed it way, way back.

It’s the way Oikawa’s features would soften when he looks at him, the way his eyes would widen and sparkle when Iwaizumi shows him the slightest bit of affection, and the fact that he can never keep a girlfriend for more than a year. He could vividly remember that pretentious but cheerful gaze Oikawa had thrown at him when Iwaizumi introduced his girlfriend back in high school. It was happy, no doubt about it, but there was this loathsome glint behind his eyes –  some blurry, indistinct despondency Iwaizumi might have purposely but insentiently overlooked, using the word “best friend” as a glass shield, because maybe he didn’t like to think of Oikawa as more than that back then.

Unlike now.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The night doesn’t end with just ramen. Oikawa, of all people, would not let that happen.

Before midnight can strike, Oikawa had already forced Iwaizumi into a variety of activities. Window-shopping would’ve been a bore for Hajime, but his mood instantly changed when Oikawa had miraculously found a hidden gem within the congested night market – a godawful graphic tee with Godzilla’s scary face on it. Noticing Hajime’s spirits rising a bit, Oikawa took it as a chance to drag him all over town, forcing his companion into an array of activities - taking selfies (and taking photos of Hajime without him noticing), buying a bucket of fried chicken from KFC because Iwaizumi dared him to (and consuming a bucket of chicken because Oikawa dared him to). When they hear the crowd screaming in excitement, Oikawa immediately runs back to show Hajime the lights show illuminating the century-old building dominating the townscape of champagne-gold lights. There’s a café nearby that lets them see the dancing laser lights clearly without having to squeeze through a bunch of standing spectators, so they stayed there for a while, ordering a slice of cake and two cups of hot coffee that ran cold just after a minute of neglect.

“Where are we going now?” Iwaizumi asks, fairly worn out, when the laser lights had stopped and Oikawa stands up to stretch. He doesn’t know why he’s asking anymore. Every single time he does, Oikawa just winks at him and tells him it’s a secret.

“Home,” Oikawa says.

His green eyes narrow in distrust. “Home,” Iwaizumi repeats, because he finds it hard to believe Oikawa wants to go home. “We’re going home?”

“Yeah.” Oikawa stands up, still brimming with energy after all that walking and shopping and eating. He stretches his arms again, extending them above his head before glancing back at Hajime. “You still up for more?”

“God, no,” Iwaizumi replies too quickly. He stands up without delay.

"What are you? An old man?" Oikawa teases, quirking one brow. Hajime jabs him lightly on the shoulder.

The journey back is silent, but it’s not awkward. Iwaizumi is simply satisfied with the muted sounds of the subway train gliding against the rails, the soft giggles from the other passengers, and Oikawa’s steady breathing and calm heartbeat. He hears it better, his senses sharper and colder inside the train's cramped compartment.

“Whoa, it’s cold,” Oikawa breathes out shakily as soon as he steps out, a visible white mist coming out whenever he exhales. He rubs his hands together to create some kind of friction, regretting not wearing gloves.

They’re right outside Korakuen Station now, and despite it being late at night, there are still people roaming about. Their apartment is a few blocks away from the station, and Oikawa can’t wait to warm up inside and take a scalding hot bath to thaw the frost beneath the layers of his skin.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls out, gaze downward.

The man walking next to him perks up. “Hm?”

“It’s midnight,” Oikawa informs him, turning his head to smile tenderly at Iwaizumi. “Merry Christmas.”

Hajime pauses, parting his lips. He stares back, and even against the dim lighting, he can see something shining in Oikawa’s eyes. He offers him a small smirk. “Yeah. Merry Christmas.”

He doesn’t hear Oikawa sigh as they walk. “It’s different here,” he chimes in, tilting his head up to look at the dry night sky – which is nothing but a solid, black color, unlike the skyscrapers that lines up the city streets with Christmas lights. “Back home, I can see all the stars. Here in Tokyo, there’s nothing.”

Iwaizumi blinks at him for a moment, then slowly looks up to follow Oikawa’s gaze. He hums in acknowledgment. Tokyo skies are definitely a letdown. The city lights make up for it, though.

Oikawa sighs out loud this time, disappointment obvious in the way he exhales. “I want to see the stars again,” he says wishfully, imagining what the sky would look like back in the countryside.

“Hey,” he says, scowling, smacking him lightly at the back of his head. “Try not to worry.” He shoves his hands into his coat pockets. “You’ll see them someday.”

Oikawa smiles at Hajime, smiles his reassuring words.

He doesn’t look back at the empty sky anymore. Instead, Oikawa chuckles, his eyes sliding to meet Hajime’s unfairly attractive green-gray ones.

“You’re right, Iwa-chan. I’ll see them someday.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa can hear the ocean.

He clutches whatever he is holding tighter, finding out later that his hands are kind of small. There’s a reflection beneath his feet. He’s younger, and his feet is smaller. He checks to see what he’s been holding this entire time. It’s the hem of Hajime’s shirt.

Iwaizumi looks young, too. Oikawa can’t help but smile at him before tilting his head up. There are no stars, there’s only the full moon. He twists his body sharply, pulling Hajime closer. His hands shake, big brown eyes staring at the white ball in the sky. An air of uneasiness rips through the moonlit night, and it’s making him uncomfortable, his heart getting heavier and heavier by the second.

But then he feels someone holding his other hand.

“Tooru, what’s wrong?” Hajime’s voice is lighter and less gruffer. “Is it because there aren’t any stars tonight?”

Oikawa can’t talk for some reason, so he just nods his head that’s too big for his body. He wants to tell Hajime that it’s really the moon that’s scaring him. Because perhaps the moon scared the stars away?

“The stars are fading,” Oikawa says sadly.

This time, Hajime holds both of his hands. “I’ll bring them to you,” he declares, eyes filled with childish determination. "Someday.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The next morning is a little too quiet, or maybe Oikawa is just imagining it. He hears Iwaizumi walk to the bathroom, then to the kitchen, gingerly shuffling through the cupboards, careful not to make too much noise because the morning is just so peaceful.

“Don’t make plans today,” Iwaizumi says suddenly, holding two cups of hot chocolate when he walks drowsily into the living room.

Oikawa rubs the morning crusties from his eyes before warming his cold hands with Iwaizumi’s cup of cocoa. “Why?” He asks, although he’s more confused on why Hajime wants him to free his schedule when all Oikawa wants to do is spend the entire winter vacation with him.

“I want to take you somewhere.”

Oikawa blinks in surprise. “Iwa-chan making plans for the first time,” he says before blowing the steam rising from his cup. “I’m shocked.”

Narrowing his eyes, Iwaizumi almost manages to hide the slight blush creeping on his cheeks as he sits next to him on the couch. “Just shut up and do what I say.”

Oikawa croons playfully. “Ooh, now you’re acting more like an alpha. How can I refuse you with that tone?”

The alpha bristles slightly, his shoulders stiffening, eyebrows scrunching together in guilt. “Idiot, it’s not—” He stops, scowling, his voice and aura softens immediately, casting his eyes down. “It’s not like that. I didn’t mean to—”

“I’m kidding, Iwa-chan, relax,” Oikawa assures him with a quiet laugh. Hajime glares at him right after, something scary in his eyes saying he shouldn’t joke about things like that. He holds the mug between his palms. “Sorry, it’s just… you never really make plans for us, you know? When we hang out and stuff?”

“You drag me into watching shitty movies and eat shitty food, but did I ever say no?”

Oikawa’s eyes went big for a second. He keeps his gaze down, pretending to watch the foam disappear from his hot cocoa. To his left, he can sense Hajime studying him carefully.

“Well…”

“Tell me.”

Oikawa pouts. “N-No.”

“I never turned you down,” Iwaizumi says, his voice firm and earnest. “I always agreed to go. You wanted to visit that science museum in Aquacity Odaiba, I went with you. You wanted to try out that weird Balkan restaurant near the campus, I still agreed. And don’t get me started on that robot cabaret club. You were embarrassed on going alone, and not even Hanamaki wanted to go with you.”

“But you did,” Oikawa finishes for him. He draws a long breath. “For a cruel guy you really can be sweet sometimes, you know that?” he tells him affectionately. But he swallows hard, just as he’s starting to believe that Hajime might feel the same. Oikawa smiles nonetheless, telling himself to be happy with the little moments he could get.

Oikawa spends the day watching Christmas movies with Hajime, largely because there’s nothing else on television, and Iwaizumi is just not in the mood to rewatch the same sci-fi films he and Oikawa had been marathoning since they were in middle school.

“You never did tell me where we’re going later,” Oikawa says, glancing at Iwaizumi, catching him staring.

“It’s a secret,” Hajime tells him, copying Oikawa’s own words.

“That’s unfair,” Oikawa grumbles and crosses his arms angrily.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The subways are still amazingly crowded, some still hoping to catch the holiday sales and light shows within the city.

Oikawa sits beside Hajime in slim-fit pants and a dark brown trench jacket, eyes glued to his phone, secretly tracking where they were going. They changed into different subway lines now, starting from Korakuen, then to the red line, then the orange at Asakusa. Oikawa blindly follows Iwaizumi’s lead, who seems to be confident on where he wants to go.

“Please don’t tell me you’re taking me to the Tokyo Skytree,” Oikawa says unhappily when he discovers the familiar area loading in his navigation app.

Iwaizumi only side-eyes him. “It’s not the Skytree.”

Oikawa breathes out a heavy sigh. “Thank god.” He places a hand over his chest. “I don’t get it. What’s so special about that tower anyway?” 

As soon as they hop out of the train, the freezing air comes back to bite them in the face. Iwaizumi leads him out of the platform, and onto the sidewalk where they are greeted with the flurry of various sounds and colors from Sumida’s Tokyo Skytree Town. It sings and dances with the murmurs of people chatting, boots hitting the pavement, cars honking horns, carols playing in the background, seemingly perfect beneath a pink sunset, smearing the futuristic buildings in pastel hues. There’s a beautiful glow of purple reflecting on the pavement, contrasting the dull, frosty winter afternoon. Oikawa looks up to see the majestic structure of the Tokyo Skytree.

“Have you ever been there? To where we're going?” Oikawa asks, following Hajime by instinct.

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “No.”

The December sky soon bruises into a dark blues and purples when Iwaizumi takes Oikawa to the back alleys, away from the crowd and shops, just so Oikawa wouldn’t know where they are heading.

“Iwa-chan, I’m getting nervous. You’re not going to attack me are you?”

“Dumbass, why would you even—!” Iwaizumi stops, then clicks his tongue. He figures Oikawa is teasing him again. But then he hears the other’s heart beat faster, his pulse quickening the darker it gets. Hajime holds his hands as an apology, lightly squeezing his palm. “Trust me.”

Trust. It’s such a magical word, and somehow Oikawa walks more obediently. 

“It’s just creepy, okay?” he says, just as apologetically. They are inside a building now, but somehow it’s not getting warmer. A large door creaks when Hajime pushes it open. It’s still pitch black, and Oikawa is reminded of the horror films he can’t watch by himself. He grips the other’s hand tighter. “Iwaizumi Hajime, whatever this is, I am not—”

Then the lights went on.

No, they aren’t just lights – they were  _stars,_ and _millions_ of them, dancing across a large open space, then there're planets and comets and floating satellites and Oikawa strides forward in complete speechlessness, breathing out a constellation, mapping out the bright dots on his hand when he lifts them. His eyes are as wide as the planets that sway gracefully against the dome of shooting stars and silver moons.

“You said you wanted to see the stars,” Iwaizumi says, clearing his throat to stop a smile. He casts his eyes up, admiring the fantastic views of space. “I figured it would take years for you to get into aeronautics, if you’re still going down that path. You still have a good volleyball career ahead of you, so I’m hoping this would do… for now.”

Oikawa forces his wavering eyes to stay open when he spins to look at Hajime, just as he did, he notices something blurring his vision. He wipes it away instantly.

“Iwa-chan keeps spoiling me recently,” Oikawa breathes out with a huff. He can’t get rid of that smile plastering his face. He wants to throw himself at Hajime. Or cry. Crying is a much better option, he thinks. Maybe Hajime would try to comfort him.

Iwaizumi wants to tell him to stop crying, but he figures holding his hand would do for now. “Come on, follow me.” Oikawa nods eagerly, sniffing and wiping his nose. He can see the floors now, see the stairs leading down onto a sunken stage, illuminated by specks and sparkles from the projected galaxy.

“There’s no one else here,” Oikawa mutters, his head looking left and right and sees nothing but the stars floating freely on the walls. “It’s just us.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t tell him that the planetarium is closed today, and that he just actually convinced certain important people to light it up for him even just for a few minutes. There’s a soothing voice of a woman talking as the background, explaining the galaxies and meteors and various space probes, and when she mentioned something along the lines of “a chance to experience a tour on the Juno spacecraft”, it doesn’t take a second for Oikawa to take the lead, pulling Hajime’s hand towards an elevated platform.

The night sky majestically progresses from dusk to dawn, all in high speed, occasionally slowing down to show a star or two. Oikawa runs and sighs in awe around the podium, trying to touch the planets that slides over his skin. They settle down on one spot, on the center of the elevated stage, which acted as the spacecraft. Oikawa leans his back against the rails, Iwaizumi next to him.

“… _is a space probe designed to study Jupiter’s polar magnetosphere. The Juno spacecraft will orbit Jupiter thirty-seven times over the course—_ ”

Jupiter's moons orbit beautifully on the surface of Oikawa’s face. “It says Ganymede,” Iwaizumi says suddenly, watching the surface of the moon drifting over his cheek. The names of the moons appear out of thin air, like magic, as well as the names of the asteroids that would pass by.

“Jupiter’s moon?” Oikawa tilts his head up, looking for it. “Where?”

Iwaizumi brushes the spot on Oikawa's cheek with his hand, where moon's diamond-like hemisphere is projecting. “It’s right here.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen as the young man looks right at him, his features brimming of adoration. His face turns into an embarrassing shade of pink and he looks away. Because he didn’t want Iwaizumi to notice what a lovesick fool he had become. He’s so _unrestrained_ today, Oikawa keeps thinking. It’s so strange to see Hajime like this. 

“I’m sure you know his story already,” Hajime speaks again. Oikawa nods, humming in agreement. “Ganymede was so beautiful, Jupiter brought him to Mount Olympus.” Hajime pauses for one second. “Don’t you think his moon suits you?”

Oikawa grows impossibly still, but his heart is doing the exact opposite. His throat constricts and is drying at the very last second. He can’t bring himself to look at the other man, and honestly, he wants to tease Hajime about it, wants to say ‘Iwa-chan, did you just call me beautiful?’ but he couldn’t because his heart is about to burst into thousands of supernovas, and Iwaizumi is completely oblivious to his mental rambles.

“You _do_ know Jupiter kidnapped him, right?” Oikawa mutters back, letting out a hearty laugh. He casts his eyes over Iwaizumi’s calm face. “Just like how Iwa-chan abducted me to bring me here.”

He smirks. “It’s not kidnapping if you’re willing.”

The dome splattered with galaxies grows comfortably silent, Oikawa sitting with his jaw locked. There’s orchestral music playing when the seats light up in neon blues and pinks. They’ve just finished orbiting another one of Jupiter’s moons.

“Is something wrong?”

Oikawa looks incredulously at him.

Goddamn alphas and their impeccable cognitive skills.

“Nothing. It’s just… getting colder,” Oikawa answers truthfully. He has several layers on, but his neck and his hands are still exposed, and his fashionable coat isn’t providing much warmth. He breathes on his freezing palms.

“Give me your hands,” Iwaizumi says casually. The face Oikawa makes caused him to chuckle. He shifts on his seat on the floor, so he’s sitting cross-legged in front of Oikawa.

Hesitantly, Oikawa holds his hands out, and Hajime takes them.

Iwaizumi gently wraps his own hands around Oikawa’s shaking ones, lifting it up near his lips so he can warm them up with his breath, all the while rubbing them against his own to provide friction. He can sense Oikawa watching him, his red face hidden within the freckles of stars grazing over his smooth skin.

Oikawa’s hands feel like ice, and Iwaizumi can feel a slight tremble, so he kneads the chills away, brushing his fingertips over the lines over Oikawa’s palm and knuckles like there are constellations hidden beneath his skin, ready to be mapped out.  For a while, Iwaizumi just stares at their hands, stares at the other’s lanky fingers.

He loves Oikawa’s hands.

He loves the stars in his eyes, he loves the way he puffs his cheeks like a balloon when things don’t go as planned, he loves the way his voice immediately softens when he says his name, the way he drones “five more minutes” even after the third alarm, the way he would watch the foams disappear on his skin when he uses his aerosol deodorant, the way he scrunches his face when he eats something too hot or too cold, the way he holds his breath during an underwater scene in a game or movie, the way he smiles and hums and sings whenever he’s washing the dishes, or showering, or reading a book – Iwaizumi can list them all, and he’s pretty damn confident that the little things he loves about Oikawa can outnumber the stars in the sky.

“Oikawa,” he murmurs. Softly. So softly Oikawa isn’t sure if it really is Hajime speaking.

There’s a careful, gentle hand on his neck while his heart desperately tries not to explode into a titanic shockwave at the tender touch. Oikawa’s thoughts clumsily stumble over themselves as Hajime’s fingers dance its way onto the edge of chin, then to the softness of his cheek. Brown eyes dart towards the other’s seemingly green ones, their faces near enough that Oikawa can breathe in what the other breathes out, and it’s enough for him to forget about the galaxies maneuvering around him, enough to freeze him in place.

Then Hajime leans in, tilting his head ever so slightly. Oikawa’s breath hitches as the faint touch of his lips ghosts over his own – chaste, soft, stirring the tender skin on the corners of Oikawa’s mouth.

It almost hurts, his eyelids shaking as his lashes flutter to close.

Hajime’s hand glides up to his arm, slowly, as he leans in for the second time. It’s barely a kiss, their slack, shy lips merely touching. Then he breathes and chafes along Oikawa’s cheeks, kissing the spot where Oikawa’s dimples would pop out when he smiles. Hajime’s lips are dry and fleeting, and Oikawa fights the strong gravitational pull that makes him want to taste him deeper. But Oikawa remains still, barely having enough oxygen when Hajime draws back.

Oikawa finally finds the courage to open his eyes, flickering several times in the low light before he sees Hajime. And he’s so close - so close Oikawa can see the faded freckles on the bridge of his nose. Hajime gives him a soft look through half-lidded eyes before he takes in a deep, shaky breath.

“I’m in love with you.”

Hajime's words made everything stop.

An entire galaxy sails over Oikawa’s face so exquisitely, making his wide eyes look like Jupiter itself. Iwaizumi watches as his face heats up, almost as red as Mars wandering on one distant corner of the planetarium. 

“Probably before I even realized that I was.”

Feeling warm and lightheaded, Oikawa can only stare back in shock when Hajime puts an inch of space between their mouths. He parts his mouth, to try to say something, but his throat dries up, and he might just faint right now. Because his entire body is burning, heart beating dangerously fast. For the first time, he’s at loss for words. Oikawa wants to say something so bad, wants to answer Hajime, wants to tell him he wants more. His brain melts into a puddle, and he doesn't know what to do next. There’s one thing he knows for sure though, and it’s Hajime’s heartbeat, and his aura, his scent, all clamoring wildly together. 

This time though, Oikawa brings his hand up to Hajime’s face, sort of mirroring what Hajime had been doing. He kisses his eyelids, pressing his lips gently until he reaches his mouth. It’s fleeting enough, and Oikawa can finally taste him.

“I love you, too.”

His words slip out freely, and with perfect clarity. Because there it is, the answer to every single question that haunted them. He’s not afraid to say it anymore. He loves Hajime. And he’ll love him until he dies, and that if there was life after death he’d still love Hajime then.

“I love you so much,” Oikawa tells him again, his voice breaking, his brows creasing miserably. His eyes twists quickly into Saturn, exposing its moons in a trail of tears as he snakes his arms around Hajime’s neck. He pulls away a bit, and laughs a breath into Hajime’s smiling lips. “It’s kind of hard pretending that I don’t.”

Hajime stares back at him, with just the same amount of love and affection, and pulls Oikawa closer to meet his lips wholeheartedly. The backdrop changes just as Oikawa locks their lips together into a flurry of messy, eager kisses, summing up everything they’ve been bottling up inside. Desperate fingers slide up to Hajime’s jaw, then his neck, and all over the place. Hajime happily reciprocates, running a hand to curl his fingers through Oikawa’s soft cinnamon hair as their noses touch and their lips lock. He can feel Oikawa’s smile – can taste the laughter and happiness lingering on his lips.

“I can’t believe I lost again,” Oikawa manages to mutter in between their tender open-mouthed kisses. Hajime hums questionably before playfully biting Oikawa’s bottom lip. “I wanted to be the one to say it first,” he tells him, his voice obviously upset. Hajime just kisses his whining away.

“When did you ever win against me?” Iwaizumi teases, sliding his nose into Oikawa’s neck. He breathes in deeply. Oikawa scent now is so pure, so raw, just free from any artificial perfume. It simply smells like _Oikawa,_ his sweat, his musk, and after a while, he finds their scents mingle as their limbs tangled on the platform. Oikawa squirms more firmly, shifting on the pit between Hajime's crossed legs so their bodies are closer.

“I wanted to tell you last night,” Oikawa confesses. He then sees Hajime smile whenever Oikawa’s eyelashes would flutter at every touch, no matter how chaste or small, and how he would let out a small, aching whimper each time. “I already had a plan. There was supposed to be a really expensive dinner, fireworks, stargazing – _actual stargazing,_ and it was gonna be so epic. Though, I haven’t figured out the details yet, but this – _this_ definitely takes the cake.”

Iwaizumi snorts out a laugh, and Oikawa thinks it’s awfully cute.

“You thought about _fireworks_?” Hajime asks with a mocking laugh, as if that’s the most embarrassing thing on the list.

Oikawa nods, hair all mussed up and face pink. “There’s really no gimmick big enough to let you know how much I love you, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime tucks him in even closer, kissing him in between breathy laughs and chuckles, arms wrapped around each other like they’ll float away like the planets swiveling around them if they let go. If he could, he’d pull down the goddamn moon for Oikawa. And if he’s willing to go that far, Hajime might just pull down fucking Pluto for him.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The FamilyMart on the ground floor was probably the least crowded convenience store Iwaizumi had ever seen. It baffled him how Oikawa knew there was a konbini there, but as Oikawa had said, those things were everywhere.

Iwaizumi followed Oikawa’s mother around the small blue-and-green store, dutifully carrying everything she was picking up. She made sure to take a pack of Tooru’s favorite milk bread first. He was a little surprised when Aunt Oikawa stopped to look up at him, tight-lipped and eyes squinted as if she was scrutinizing every speck on his face. She was wearing a lavender dress and a pair of kitten heels, sighing fondly before grabbing another brand of milk bread from the shelf.

“You’re so grown up now, Hajime-kun,” she started, shoulders hunching a bit. “It feels like it’s just yesterday when you and Tooru were this small.” She placed a hand by her waist to let Iwaizumi imagine how small he and Tooru used to be. “You two grew up so tall, too!”

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, muttering sounds of agreement to dispel any lingering thoughts of guilt. Memories of him and Tooru as kids came flooding back, and he kind of smiled. It was something he liked reminiscing about. But those innocent days just seemed so far off in his mind.

“Oh, Hajime-kun. I don’t know what would happen to Tooru without you,” she said suddenly, her voice a little sadder, but obviously grateful. “Tooru is lucky to have you by his side. Can you believe that he wanted to live by himself once? But it’s good that he’s living with you now.”

Iwaizumi stopped in his tracks, eyes casted down on the floor, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed the same pang of guilt he was battling ever since. There was a painful sting in his heart when he stared at her trusting eyes. He took a deep breath, hating the greed that clouded over his thoughts.

“Auntie, about that…” Iwaizumi started, balling his fists until his skin had turned white. “Aren’t you trusting me a little too much?”

“Hajime-kun?” Aunt Oikawa shook her head, momentarily confused before her eyebrows settled back down. “What do you mean, dear? We’ve always—”

“I’m an _alpha_ , Auntie. I’m not like you or Uncle. I’m not Tooru’s family,” Iwaizumi almost yelled out, dejected at his own realization. He was careful not to let his voice appear too brash. “Living with him has been fine up until now because back then Tooru wasn’t… wasn’t like _this_. We all thought he wouldn’t present. But suddenly he’s an omega now, a really troublesome one at that, and I’ll be lying if I tell you Tooru as an omega isn’t affecting me at _all_.” Iwaizumi bit his lip, arms stiff against his sides. He didn’t know why he was suddenly telling Oikawa’s mother all of this. “Because it is. It’s been rough, trying to pretend that his new status isn’t doing weird things to me, because I don’t want him to be afraid of me. I don’t want to be like the other alphas.”

“Oh, Hajime. I didn’t know, we didn’t…” She walked over to comfort him, her forehead creased in worry and guilt. She placed a tender hand on his arm, tilting her head to look up at the taller boy's face. “We’re so sorry, sweetie. We didn’t realize. If you want to separate from Tooru, we understand—”

“That’s the thing.” Iwaizumi rubbed his face with his palm before looking directly at her eyes. “I don't want to, Auntie. I want to stay with him, without having to worry about me being an alpha and Tooru being an omega, without... worrying if I might hurt him, or do something bad to him.”

“Hajime-kun, are you saying…?”

“I just want to be with him.” Iwaizumi smiled nervously, releasing an anxious, breathy laugh. “I’m really sorry, Auntie. I was hoping—I guess I was… what I’m trying to say is…” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I want to ask for your permission. I mean, if it’s okay to, uh, be with Tooru—or not, which is, which is fine by the way!” He raises his hand in front of him, pressing his lips together before looking back at her indescribable expression. “If—If you and Uncle don’t approve. I know it’s— _weird_ and… and sudden, but…” He blinked several times, looking down at the items they haven’t paid for yet. “He’s just—he’s having a hard time. It hurts to see him like that. I can’t stand it. I just want him to rely on me, like before, like when we were kids, but because he’s an omega he keeps thinking that he’s only bothering me, and he keeps overcompensating for everything. And I understand that. He feels inferior now, insecure, but I never once thought of him that way. I just want him to need me. God, Auntie, I’m sorry, it sounds selfish but, he doesn’t seem to realize that I need him just as much as he…”

Iwaizumi trailed off, feeling betrayed when he felt his voice crack. Because everything was his fault. Oikawa binged on those suppressants because of him. He pressed the back of his hand to his upper lip.

“I want him to rely on me, not on anyone else, not on any other alpha.” He felt something warm in his eyes. “If I move away, or if he gets drafted to someplace else, I don’t think—I don’t think I can bear with that. I…” He stepped back and clicked his tongue. Oikawa’s mother had probably noticed the tiniest bit of tears welling beneath his eyes.

He huffed, laughing pitifully at himself, wiping the tears that almost fell. He must’ve looked pathetic and stupid, breaking down in the middle of a convenience store. “I’m sorry… I just—”

“Hajime-kun.”

“Y-Yes?” Hajime immediately glanced at her, his brows scrunched into blatant desperation, lips pursed in nervousness. But then he sees Oikawa’s mother smiling, her eyes just as glassy as his. She eyed him affectionately, gratefully, as she released a shaky breath.

Her eyes, Iwaizumi could never forget it. They were earnest, warm. Iwaizumi could see how much she believed in him.

“Honestly, sweetie, I’ve never felt so relieved in my life.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feel free to [[cue dramatic korean drama music]](https://open.spotify.com/user/22fcvi6th7yrl2odhh6hrhcfi/playlist/2CQI9rGlcDV4bUqnPTxEh6) while reading
> 
> became too long again  
> so bonus 4th chapter soon
> 
> holla at yo boy here: [twitter](https://twitter.com/dahliadenoire) or [tumblr](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/)


	4. For Him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part IV — [FOR HIM by Troye Sivan](https://open.spotify.com/track/5yFhb4ABfgvqQYZEK18lcc)

When Iwaizumi was asked what he wanted to do after high school, the first thing that came into his mind was “I don’t know.”

The second thing that came into his mind, whether he liked it or not, was something he would never admit to anyone – “I’ll go wherever Oikawa is going.”

Back then, it wasn’t really much of a shock to him, never really thought too much about it, although he was fully aware that alphas don’t just follow _anyone_ , because naturally it should be the other way around. Iwaizumi disliked dwelling on stereotypes, thinking how silly it was for books and movies to tell them what they should to do. It seemed only natural for him, and Iwaizumi was sure Oikawa would’ve said the same thing if he were asked the same question. The only difference was that Oikawa knew exactly what he wanted to do, his future and career as clear as the way his round eyes would glisten like diamonds.

Having been together since day one became something of a nuisance. They went to the same kindergarten, same middle school, same high school, lived in the same old neighborhood, lived on the same hill, lived right next to each other’s small houses. Iwaizumi didn’t want to break that pattern – and that he admitted.

However, with their last volleyball match in high school – a match Iwaizumi thought would branch out a little more – he realized how selfish his wishes were. The tree of players he helped cultivate began to fall off one by one, a tragic autumnal portrait reminding him that the summers were gone, and the only way forward was a cold, cold winter of  regrets and the could-have-been’s. That particular match only emphasized how Oikawa wasn’t fit for their team, and from there on out, everyone expected Oikawa would go down the professional volleyball route and settle for a stronger group of players. Because he’s too good – just too damn _good_. He’s too skilled, too clever, too pretty, too _everything._ And that was when Iwaizumi realized Oikawa won’t make it to the top _with_ him _._ Despite their ranks in society, he was nothing compared to Oikawa Tooru. And while Oikawa could bring out the best in everyone, Iwaizumi started to feel that he just wasn’t the right partner, wasn’t the right _alpha_. He couldn’t do the same thing to him – couldn’t draw out Oikawa’s full potential.

And so one day, he told him, “Let’s go to different universities.”

He couldn’t forget Oikawa’s face the moment he said it, something in his face told him he might’ve felt hurt – almost _betrayed_ somehow. It has always been a given that they would go together _anywhere_. Iwaizumi saw how his eyes twitched in disbelief, and the words Oikawa could only muster was a brokenhearted, “Why?”

Why? He’s asking ‘why’? Because Iwaizumi could proudly tell the world that he’s the best player he had ever gotten the chance to play with – a fact he wasn’t scared of admitting out loud. But the sad thing was; Iwaizumi couldn’t tell if Oikawa would say the same thing about him. Iwaizumi wanted him to be stronger, wanted him to reach his dream without anyone holding him down, because by then he knew his best friend wouldn’t be satisfied with just _winning_. He was a star that was destined to travel away from earth. He couldn’t do that with him.

But seconds later, Oikawa smiled, confident but hesitant – and for the first time Iwaizumi wasn’t sure if it was genuine or not. He raised a fist on front of him, waiting for Iwaizumi to reciprocate, like some form of forced pinky promise. It was a crucial moment. The second he bumped his fist, regret started to pour down on him like a tidal wave. 

Then the struggle to pass the national entrance exams came.

Oikawa was offered a scholarship in Tokyo, from a university known for its famous athletic alumni. Iwaizumi was complacent about everything, though he acknowledged the fact that he was jealous at some point – not because Oikawa’s future looked brighter than his, but because he wasn’t offered a scholarship, and that his grades weren’t really good enough for one. He hated having to take college prep class and study his _ass off_ while Oikawa wouldn’t have any problems except for the Center Test, and Iwaizumi was damn sure he’d pass that.

Seeing that mail that came for Oikawa, seeing his happy, blushing face as he sat across him in his room – that was the exact second when a heavy feeling settled into his bones, drilling into his consciousness that this will be their last few months together. Iwaizumi applied for a local university. It was a good one, holding as much prestige as the universities in the capital.

His luck must’ve been running out because on the next day, his girlfriend, Kawahara Saori, told Iwaizumi that she needed to go back to Hokkaido. “Will you go with me, Hajime-kun?” she had asked him with hopeful, glassy eyes and a sad smile. Her features were expectant and heartbreaking, because she just _knew_ Iwaizumi wouldn’t go with her. And so he shook his head and apologized deeply. Because he just couldn’t see it. He couldn’t see himself following her, couldn’t see himself leaving everything behind for this person.

He loved her, but he realized right after that he didn’t love her enough.

During the last days of their final exams, just a few weeks before graduation, Oikawa decided to study together and crashed at Iwaizumi’s place. Iwaizumi had told him that he had broken up with his girlfriend, and for once Oikawa actually consoled him. The strange thing about it was that Iwaizumi wasn’t upset, unlike Oikawa who’d sulk for days if a girl dumped him. Oikawa must’ve noticed this, so he didn’t tackle on the subject further. They didn’t study for the first hour, bickering and fighting over silly little things instead. Another hour later, peace finally settled. Iwaizumi’s concentration was at its peak and Oikawa decided to break it.

“Graduate school doesn’t seem too unappetizing,” he said suddenly, causing Iwaizumi to stop whatever he was doing. “If my volleyball career doesn’t go well by the time I’m – I don’t know – thirty? I’ll probably go for astrophysics.”

There wasn’t any hesitation in his voice – in his decision, despite the nonchalance.

Iwaizumi’s eyes went big in surprise, but he didn’t let Oikawa see. His friend loosely held a textbook, too busy smiling by Iwaizumi’s window, looking at the stars in the sky and the neighborhood they’ve come to love.

“Astrophysics?” he repeated just for the sake of it.

“Sure,” Oikawa replied, calm and determined. “I might apply for JAXA while I’m at it!” He laughed shortly after, saying the last part was a joke. Knowing Oikawa, he knew aeronautics wasn’t a completely impossible feat. His face changed afterwards, turning to stare at Iwaizumi directly. There was a small moment of silence before Oikawa’s face scrunched into a terrifyingly familiar expression,

“Will you come with me, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi sat still, tried to collect his thoughts, tried to swallow down the lump in his throat. He was dealing with the same question, same _face_ – but what scared him the most was his utmost willingness to say “yes” – with no hesitation whatsoever. How was he so willing to change his life plans for this idiot, when he couldn’t even bear to change it for a former lover? There were no second thoughts. His will, his decision – they were raw and quick. To go somewhere as far as Tokyo just for him – for Oikawa – Iwaizumi was all too willing, and it scared him how there were no traces of doubt in his heart.

That was it.

That was what he wanted – a chance to redeem himself, a chance to make up for what he lacked as a player, as Oikawa’s partner. He could still study. He’ll study _harder_. He could still catch up. And maybe he could fulfill the promise he made way, way back Oikawa probably couldn’t remember. “I’ll bring them to you, someday.” That was what a young, mud-covered, little Hajime said when Oikawa cried because the stars were fading.

“Idiot, why would I want to come with you?” Iwaizumi said, his gaze back to the textbooks. He heard Oikawa laugh softly behind him, unable to see the hurt in his face.

Days after their final exams, Oikawa couldn’t get hold of Hajime. He wanted to invite him over for dinner, as their time together was ticking, but Hajime kept refusing, saying he had something important to do. It was only normal to be shocked when his phone rang, the name “Iwa-chan” flashing on his screen. Hajime never called him unless it was important, so he answered it immediately.

“I got accepted in Chuo University.”

Oikawa wanted to reply, wanted to tease him, wanted to say congratulations. But he couldn’t muster up a single word, his tongue feeling thick and heavy in his mouth. He was more than aware how Hajime was waiting for a reaction on the other line. It didn’t make sense. Hajime never planned this, never even bothered telling him. He already got accepted in Tohoku, so why would he—

“Engineering,” the voice on the other line spoke again, and he sounded like he was trying to stop a smile.

He was responded by another short moment of silence, because Oikawa simply didn’t know what to say – or _feel_.

Same university. Same faculty. Same building.

Oikawa remembered he had cried that day, and that it took several seconds before he could come up with a proper response. He never told his friend that he cried, but there was a part of him that knew Hajime could tell just by hearing his shaky voice when he said, “Congratulations, Iwa-chan!”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The mild January sunlight floods the comfortable corners of the apartment when Oikawa wakes up to the smell of breakfast and the undesirable ringing of his phone alarm.

Slowly, he cracks an eye open, only to close it again as the white glare from the windows blinds his vision. He groans and retreats further into the thick sheets embedded with Hajime’s warmth and scent. He sighs in content, intending to sleep for a few more minutes and snuggle up against Hajime – who he realizes is not there beside him anymore, because there’s no arm curling around him, and so he stops and opens his eyes, fully this time, pouting and grumbling boldly in disappointment.

He sits up, bed hair fluffing, cold air nipping at his exposed skin. The curtains are pushed all the way to the sides, and Iwaizumi always makes sure of that as it helps Oikawa wake up. Oikawa finally untangles the heavy sheets that restricted him from standing. Stretching his arms above his head, he walks out of bed, thinking how useless sleeping in would be if Hajime isn’t next to him.

He takes a small trip to the bathroom to stare at his sleepy face and to brush his teeth before heading out for breakfast. Already on their tiny table are bowls of steaming hot ozoni soup – the same one they had made during the New Year’s which caused a flash of miserable homesickness instead of the usual quiet start-of the year reflection. Oikawa notices the tiny flakes of dried fish beneath the clear soup and the grilled mochi on the center, carrots and daikon messily garnishing the sides, giving it that healthy finish. From the kitchen, Oikawa can hear the sizzle of oil and the clanging of kitchenware. His heightened sense of smell can identify the creamy but spicy aroma of whatever Hajime is cooking, mixing in with the alpha’s own distinct scent. There’s this hint of coconut and curry spices in the air when a curious Oikawa peeks through the kitchen doorway.

“You’re finally awake,” Hajime says like he had been waiting all night, his back unturned, concentrating on the breaded chicken legs that are starting to burn into a golden brown. “I’m leaving in a bit. Just finishing this up.”

“Good morning to you, too,” Oikawa chimes in playfully, only remembering now that they have classes again, and that means less morning hours with Hajime. He thinks about skipping class. It’s only the first day anyway. His eyes then reel over to Hajime’s figure, already dressed up in a gray hooded zip jacket, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Iwaizumi made sure to put in more coconut milk and lessen the curry powder, knowing Oikawa’s dislike for overly spicy things. Once done, Iwaizumi places a plate of crispy fried curry chicken next to a bowl of steamed rice and soup with leftover mochi, causing a sleepy Oikawa to wake up to the delightful balsamic aroma.

“Iwa-chan, aren’t you gonna eat?” Oikawa asks when he notices there aren’t any extra plates for him.

Iwaizumi turns to Oikawa and blinks, before looking away again.

“I already ate,” he says. “I woke up too early and there's some leftover tofu in the fridge.”

Oikawa’s eyes dip back down to his breakfast too quickly.

Because he’s blushing a little, and Oikawa is fully aware how even a slight blush would look like a lot on his face. He doesn’t know why he’s embarrassed at Hajime’s small gesture when he had been making breakfast for him ever since they decided to live together. Their entire relationship has been based on nothing but small gestures and unspoken words, so this little gimmick shouldn’t affect him at all.

Except it does.

It’s that small moment when Oikawa, in his hindbrain, stops thinking he’s merely living together with Hajime, and then starts to think he and Hajime are _together_ \- mates, bonded, claimed, or any other words he might have missed. He used to hate the idea of having an alpha as a significant other, now it’s simply an easy concept to think about. Because it’s Hajime, and even though it turns out awkward on some cases, he’s quick to adapt, quick to understand.

“Iwa-chan is so sweet,” Oikawa teases, hiding his embarrassment by stretching a childish grin at Hajime. He grips the chopsticks in one hand. “You’ll make a great housewife.”

He scowls at him, brows creasing. “Shut up and eat,” Hajime says as he reaches out to ruffle Oikawa’s already messy hair – probably to hide his own embarrassment too.

“Hey—Stop that,” Oikawa gripes, laughing a little, maneuvering his way out of Hajime’s grip on his head and smooths his hair into its natural puff with a pout. “What time’s your first class?” Oikawa asks almost in a hurry, just to keep Iwaizumi from walking out of the room.

Hajime looks at the wall clock. “Eight-thirty.”

Oikawa glances at the time too. It’s still an hour before eight. “Stay a bit more,” he suggests, absently coating his words with desperation. He looks up at Hajime like a puppy. “I-I’ll make you coffee! I promise I won’t put in too much sugar like before!”

Iwaizumi watches him with small frown, then sits across him on one of their folding chairs before sighing. “Please try not to burn yourself this time.”

Brown eyes flare up in delight, determined to make Hajime stay longer.

“Since you asked so nicely,” Oikawa replies, scampering to the kitchen to make instant coffee, leaving his half-eaten breakfast to be chilled by the cold draft. It doesn’t take long before Oikawa comes running back, cautiously holding a cup filled with hot liquid, because it takes literally two minutes to stir up some good instant coffee. Iwaizumi takes the mug quickly before Oikawa can spill it, the fragrant steam making him feel more awake.

“How is it?” Oikawa asks, waiting for his reaction.

Iwaizumi looks at him, then laughs a little after taking sip. “Serious gourmet shit right here.”

“Thought so.” Oikawa smiles fondly at the Hajime’s morning sarcasm and movie references. He sits back down as another silence settles in.

The transition from being friends – _best friends_ – to lovers is, honestly, the _worst_ , and so very confusing. Because nothing really changed, but at the same time _everything fucking changed_. It’s full of pitfalls and Oikawa finds himself stumbling upon a conundrum he cannot figure out upon following Hajime to the door.

“I’m going,” Iwaizumi says, sitting on the elevated part of their entryway, putting on his snow white Adidas Superstars. “And don’t slack off. I know you’re already thinking of skipping class.”

Oikawa swallows and finds his throat drying up, and it’s not because of the cold weather or because Hajime had read his mind again. Hajime stands up and pushes the soles of his shoes down.

“B-Be safe,” is all Oikawa could come up with, and this must’ve confused Hajime, who slowly turns his head to face him.

“Be safe?” he repeats, like it’s something so offensive. Oikawa’s shoulders jump when Hajime frowns at him.

There’s an awkward silence when their eyes meet, because really, all Oikawa wanted to do is to kiss him goodbye, and it _pains_ him because it’s so simple yet he can’t find the courage to initiate it. Their last kiss was almost a week ago (not that Oikawa has been keeping tabs or anything), just after New Year’s, and honestly it only happened because Oikawa had way too much beer so his self-restraint was nowhere to be found. But after that, they didn’t do anything else; no kisses, no sappy bullshit – except maybe for their usual habits; scent marking and the like.

Thus, Oikawa simply looks down, laughing nervously, something very uncharacteristic coming from him, as he’s not quite the type to blatantly display his unease. He rubs his neck sheepishly, unable to do anything even if he wanted to.

He opens his mouth, shuts it, and opens it again. “Um, bye, come back home soon?” he tries again, leaving an uncertain intonation at the very last word, sounding more like in panic by the second.

“That’s it?” Oikawa only blinks in confusion. “I don’t get a goodbye kiss?” Iwaizumi asks casually with one eyebrow high up, oblivious to Oikawa’s quiet panic.

There’s a list of things he had a tough time adjusting to after their little tryst in the planetarium, and he learns the hard way that Hajime is definitely on top of that said list. Because suddenly Hajime’s so bold and candid and ridiculously in control of his emotions while Oikawa is left flushed and awkward after every single moment, wary and panicky on times when he’s not supposed to – like a simple touch on the shoulder, a hand through his hair, a warm breath on his neck. Hajime had done _worse_ , and the only difference is that Oikawa’s now hyperaware of his actions, because every touch is now under a totally different context, and Oikawa is just too overwhelmed with the fact that they’re no longer _just_ friends to properly accept the other’s affection.

“Fine,” he says almost angrily. “Fine!” He gulps down to quell his growing embarrassment. He licks his lips, glancing nervously at a strangely blank-faced Hajime before taking a deep breath. The elevated platform made Oikawa even taller, so when he leans down to kiss him, heart pounding, it took a lot of his upper body weight to reach the other’s lips.

His kiss is chaste, and Oikawa pulls away just as quickly.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at him, brows crunched up in dissatisfaction.

“What’s with that scary face? It’s really annoying!” Oikawa shouts out, his face turning into a bright pink. He opens his mouth to yell at how much he hates Hajime’s stupid face, but instead he yelps onto something soft when a strong grip yanks the neck of his shirt down.

His balance completely falls into pieces as he stumbles off the platform, almost stepping on Hajime’s foot. But Hajime catches him early enough and locks him in by the waist, not giving Oikawa a chance to catch his breath. A weird noise streams out of him when he feels Hajime’s lips, Oikawa automatically sliding his fingers along the line of Iwaizumi’s jaw. The kiss is deep and sure and inviting enough for Oikawa to readily open his mouth. It’s anything but chaste, and it’s definitely not just a little ‘goodbye kiss’ by the way their lips meet languidly over and over like they have all the time in the world.

When Oikawa opens his eyes, they had already parted. He draws in a deep breath and lets the alpha’s warmth and scent permeate until he feels his hands sliding off his waist.

“Is it safe to say ‘come back soon’ now?”

Hajime grins right after that – his adorable, goofy smile he likes so much that Oikawa had to hold himself back from kissing him again. “Yeah,” he says breathily, taking a step back. He picks up his backpack from the floor and throws it on one shoulder. “You can say it now.”

“Right.” Oikawa wants to keep him a little bit more. “Come back home soon.”

The sound of the door closing and the silence that sets down after it made Oikawa’s heart ache. He cools his warm cheeks with his palms, Hajime’s warmth still soaking through him. He licks his lips to see if there’s still a little left of Hajime’s taste on his lips.

It tastes like coffee and peppermint and his wildest dreams all pureed together.

Oikawa hopes he’ll get used to that soon.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Thanks for the hard work, everyone!”

Sugawara looks up from where he sat, seeing the team captain’s face all smiley and kind as if he hadn’t almost murdered them with deadly receiving drills and unnecessary speedy side-steps. His arms grew into this painful shade of red, and it hurts just by looking at them, feeling like his bones had just been pulverized into dust and there’s nothing left but tired muscles and ripped tissue. He hears the Otani Yoshikazu shout merrily again, telling them to stand up and collect the scattered balls so they could go home.

There’s a collective groan of anguish from his teammates, all boneless and tired on the floor, their legs giving out at the slightest movement. Coach Inoue doesn’t seem to plan on showing up until next week, extending his winter break because he just fucking can. Sugawara misses their coaches suddenly, since their captain is ten times worse when it comes to afternoon training. He’s about to make an attempt to stand up when someone catches his eye.

Oikawa is lying on the floor, limbs sprawled out dramatically, grumbling about how his knees hurt. Iwaizumi is not too far away, and Sugawara sees him stomp towards Oikawa’s limp figure, hostile and ruggedly handsome as usual, ready to shout at Oikawa for whatever reason. His angry voice is quieter since he’s on the other side of the court. Sugawara sees him grab both Oikawa’s arms, attempting to lift him up, but it seems like Oikawa is intentionally making himself heavier. While the other players on his team are busy picking up stray balls and moving the equipment back to the storeroom, Sugawara find himself smiling, gazing at the two.

It’s a bit hard to see from the distance, but Sugawara was able to catch Oikawa’s mischievous smile as he pulls Iwaizumi down, who stumbles down awkwardly. Luckily, he manages to catch himself instead of completely colliding with Oikawa, who’s now laughing graciously. Sugawara laughs inwardly and rolls his eyes. It’s been a while since he had witnessed their playful antics. He glances back, expecting a frowning and cussing Iwaizumi, but instead he’s _smiling_ , and Sugawara had to double check if he had seen that right.

He blinks stupidly. Iwaizumi’s smile is even warmer if that’s even possible. Sugawara watches in curiosity as Iwaizumi places a careful hand on Oikawa’s knee and another on his shoulder as he kneels beside the young man, saying something Sugawara can’t quite make out. Oikawa smiles right back and shakes his head a bit as he talks to Iwaizumi, a light blush dusting his already flushed face.

If Sugawara had blinked at that very moment, he would’ve missed Iwaizumi leaning in to plant a quick kiss on Oikawa’s parted lips, who in return blushes _furiously_ at the action _,_ pushing Iwaizumi’s face with his palms as he frantically looks around for witnesses he might need to kill. Sugawara does the same and quickly scans the area, checking if anyone had seen the scene before him, surprised because literally _no one_ had been paying attention to them, mostly because everyone’s so used to their bickering and horseplay they don’t even bother anymore.

“Oh my god,” Sugawara whispers to himself, still in shock. The beta glances quickly back to the pair and sees Iwaizumi pulling a pouting Oikawa up, realizing that he should go help clean up too before the captain yells at him.

 _What exactly happened during their winter vacation?_ It wasn’t too long ago when Oikawa had been sending him drunk texts – which turned out more like goddamn hieroglyphs with the copious amounts of emoji and incorrect kanji and vague self-depreciating insults. Sugawara could barely decrypt these mysterious texts, but he knew it had something to do with Iwaizumi. They must’ve fought or something. He was seriously worried during those days, calling Oikawa several times, texting him it’s going to be fine (whatever it was, because frankly Sugawara had no idea what was happening between the two). His worries worsened when both of them had stopped attending the last few classes before winter vacation. Sugawara only knew what had happened after Oikawa tweeted about coming back from the hospital, although the guy never really expounded much on it.

Sugawara had been wanting to ask Oikawa what exactly happened ever since class started again. And now, after witnessing that strange interaction between the two, he had never been so curious. He isn’t the type to just butt into someone else’s business. No, he’s not like that. If anything, he waits for people to tell him things, to trust him about certain secrets. Sugawara doesn’t consider himself kind, but he isn’t mean either. However, he does consider himself cunning. Because when it comes to manipulating others to open up, Sugawara Koushi is an expert.

He figures it’ll be easier to ask Oikawa, who’s far from secretive, being the type of person to blast all his feelings and daily selfies out on social media. But Sugawara thinks it’s more interesting to approach Iwaizumi about it, wondering what kind of faces he’d make. It’s not often one can knock off that frown off his face, although now Sugawara learns Oikawa seems to be the only one capable of doing that.

On the other side of the room, Iwaizumi is pushing a ball cart off the court when Sugawara approaches him.

“Need some help?” Sugawara offers with his kindest smile, walking over to push the cart, although it seems the alpha doesn’t really have trouble with it. His tired arms are killing him, but he figures it’d be worth it.

“Sure,” Iwaizumi greets back in acknowledgement.

Sugawara clears his throat, not really putting much weight on the ball cart. He starts by asking Iwaizumi what he did for Christmas, if he went back home to Miyagi like him, the usual after-vacation questions. The other doesn’t seem to mind sharing, and he lets him, until Sugawara notices how it’s becoming ‘Oikawa did this’ and ‘Oikawa did that’ until their conversation shifts quickly to the other boy.

“When are you going to tell Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi looks at him, confused. “Tell him what?” He raises a brow, not exactly understanding the context. “That you guys are voting for him as the next captain?”

“No, not that.” He flashes him his tender smile. “Besides, he can probably feel it already. Look at him. He’s so confident, more than usual.”

“So,” Iwaizumi drones, curious. “Tell him what then?”

Sugawara smiles innocently, before deciding to drop the bomb

“That you’ve fallen for him.”

Iwaizumi almost chokes on his own saliva while the other tries to stop himself from smiling too much. He stops pushing the cart and narrows his eyes at Sugawara, half-glaring because he can’t bring himself to full-glare at him. “W-Who would fall for that idiot?”

Sugawara thinks Iwaizumi is not a very good actor. He looks up, humming, as if he’s listing all the possible candidates. “A lot of people.” He pretends to think again before staring back at Iwaizumi. “And you,” he says matter-of-factly. He takes note of Iwaizumi’s expression, which seemed strangely unfazed and serious despite his previous stuttering. He slaps him hard on the back. “That’s why you should get a hold of him before anyone else does!”

Iwaizumi bites the insides of his cheeks. He seems conflicted about something, Sugawara notices.

“I already told him,” he says suddenly, quietly, catching Sugawara by surprise.

He blinks at Iwaizumi with wide eyes. “What?”

“You heard what I said.” His jaw clenches as he speaks, looking away and rubbing the back of his neck.

Sugawara is surprised at how easy this was, and honestly he’s a little disappointed. Still, he places a hand on his own chest, appreciating Iwaizumi’s honesty, trying to take in the information as he watches Iwaizumi’s mouth quirk into something between a pout and a frown, his cheeks showing the slightest tinge of embarrassment. From the corner of his eye, Sugawara catches a glimpse of Oikawa, helping the others pull down the net. At once, he turns away from Iwaizumi, leaving the young man baffled.

“Hey, where are you going?” Iwaizumi asks as he zooms right past him.

He marches towards Oikawa, who had already seen him coming.

“Oikawa.”

“Kou-chan!” He beams in response, eyes bright and happy. “What’s up? Did Iwa-chan scare you?” His happy expression veers swiftly into surprise when Sugawara takes both of his hands.

“I’d like to thank you for the opportunity to support you and Iwaizumi in your bond.”

Sugawara thinks it’s honestly so satisfying to see Oikawa’s huge eyes as soon as he said this. Speechless, Oikawa snaps his head to look at Iwaizumi who merely closes his green eyes and sighs in what seems like regret, a hand massaging his temples.

He laughs nervously. “W-What are you—What’re you talking about, Kou-chan?”

Both of them are terrible actors, he thinks, laughing inwardly. Sugawara grins and decides to step it up a bit. “Have you consummated your bond yet?”

He had never seen Oikawa so red and flustered, and he wishes he had a camera on hand because he just wants to record everything that’s happening. Oikawa continues to stutter and feign innocence, fumbling for words.

“I won’t tell anyone,” Sugawara assures him with a wink. He’s not _that_ evil. But if the time comes when he needs to blackmail Oikawa (or Iwaizumi), he knows he has the necessary material.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Above the houses of Koishikawa, the sky is heavy with fog, mixing with tracts of dark blue and lilac, darkened by the setting sun. In the east, there’s already a threat of a cold night. Oikawa treads lightly beneath the sullen mist with slight shivers, the thick BlockTech parka he has on failing to warm him up.

“Ugh, I’ve been dying to go home! Kou-chan has been a pain in the ass,” Oikawa mutters, exhaling through his nose since he has a surgical mask on. He rubs his chilly hands together to warm them, his palms red and sore from volleyball practice and the cold, shaking when he raises them up. ”It’s getting colder lately. My hands are _freezing_.”

Iwaizumi snorts and turns to him, hiding his own discomfort from the winter air as he walks. He decides to forget what had happened with Sugawara. He trusts him enough. “It’s colder back home,” he comments. Even against the dark, he can still see Oikawa’s flushed skin, dry and frosty. “And how many times have I told you to bring your goddamn gloves?”

Oikawa puffs his cheeks, unapologetic. “I keep forgetting them!”

“You’re not a fucking eighty-year-old man to forget small things like that.” Iwaizumi frowns at him then clicks his tongue. He takes off his own quilted nylon glove from his left hand and offers it to Oikawa. “Here.”

The other hesitates. “What’s one glove gonna do?” Hajime only keeps quiet. The insides are warm when he wears it, and he can’t help but sigh at the comfort. He’s about to open his mouth to give Hajime a small thanks, but decided against it when he feels something warm squeezing his gloveless hand.

Hajime, for all his love and kindness, has never been a man of romance. If anything, Oikawa had always seen him as someone raw and natural and subtle. He’s not someone who can sweep people off their feet, not the kind of guy who’d spoil him with expensive gifts and promises of happy-ever-after’s.

But that’s okay, Oikawa thinks. He looks down on Hajime’s hand, feeling a tingling sensation between his fingers, like his own skin has always been yearning for his touch. He curls his arms against Hajime’s, sliding their palms together when the angle is right. Then he turns his head to the other man, his face mask hiding a fond smile that fell from his dry lips, along with an icy laugh.

“I might just burn all my winter gloves at this rate.”

“Don’t you dare try.” Iwaizumi chuckles softly right after, his threat losing its duress.

Oikawa laughs softly again, a trickle of pink painting his cheeks. He looks back up at the dark sky. “Guess I just have to intentionally lose half of the pair then!” he jokes, but Hajime doesn’t say anything after.

Iwaizumi squeezes the other’s hand tighter.

“Oikawa,” he hears Hajime say suddenly, his voice cutting through the still air.

“Hm? What is it—?”

Then there’s a gloved hand on his cheek, making him stop in his tracks. Hajime leans in to the side of his face, like he’s going to whisper a monsoon against his ear, but instead he yanks down the mask covering Oikawa’s face and presses his lips against his just as he glances back at Hajime. Oikawa’s breath hitches as his heart quivers inside his chest, the sudden, gentle kiss freezing his entire body.

Iwaizumi doesn’t pull away right after, drawing out the seconds before the winter air falls back into its dreary grace. By and by, Hajime’s mouth parts from his flaky lips, Oikawa’s head nudging a centimeter forward, unwittingly following the other’s lips as though he’s asking for more.

Iwaizumi takes the time to meet Oikawa’s eyes - half-open, dazed, topped with long, fluttery lashes, and he immediately regrets it, because he finds that he couldn’t get away.

“You certainly enjoy kissing me without my consent, huh?” Oikawa manages to joke despite his escalating heartbeat. “Typical alpha behavior, really.”

Hajime raises an eyebrow. “Do you hate it?”

He blushes. “Of course I don’t hate it!” Oikawa admits and looks away, feigning anger and pulling his mask up to his nose again. “Just give me a heads up next time!”

 _Next time,_ Iwaizumi thinks earnestly to himself. Somehow the thought of kissing Oikawa again and again until the end of time makes his heart dance.

“Okay,” he says simply. He nods his head, his voice calm and casual. Then he looks at Oikawa. “I’m going to kiss you now.”

Oikawa snaps his head back to Hajime. “I don’t mean it like tha-- _mmph!_ ”

The kiss is clumsy this time, their teeth clacking, their lips smashing artlessly. Oikawa squares his shoulders, the ambush on his lips causing him to lose his balance. Hajime keeps him on his toes by instinct. The night grows colder just as Oikawa completely melts, sighing against Hajime’s lips. He draws back when he runs out of air, immediately nestling his forehead on Hajime’s neck to hide his embarrassed, beet red face.

“Iwa-chan, you’re gonna give me a heart attack,” he whimpers against Hajime’s parka, the fierce excitement thrashing inside his chest failing to dissipate. He feels like his heart is failing. Maybe he is an eighty-year-old man after all.

“What?” Hajime says with a hint of amusement, shoulders twitching. “I gave you a heads up.”

Oikawa pulls away and straightens his back, pouting, brows furrowed.

“You’re awful.”

Hajime only smirks, the blue neighborhood growing even more still as he tugs Oikawa back into a walking pace. It takes several steps for Iwaizumi to realize that he’s still holding Oikawa’s hand - their fingers entwined the entire walk home. Then it takes less than a second for him to learn that he doesn’t really want to let go.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“About time.”

Iwaizumi wakes up to the sight of Oikawa observing him, sitting on the edge of the bed, amused and strangely awake so early in the morning. Oikawa’s usually so grumpy and whiny when he wakes up, so this is a new sight.

He slings an arm over his eyes with a groan. “What time is it?” he dares to ask, his eyes still struggling to open. Oikawa keeps quiet and hums like he doesn’t know, but he can see even with his blurry vision that the wall clock is pointing at nine-twenty. There goes his Industrial Psychology class. “You didn’t wake me.”

“That’s _your_ job, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says before letting out a loud yawn, stretching his arms up above his head. “Besides, I woke up late too.” He flops back on the bed next to Hajime, smiling at the other’s misfortune. “Even if I woke you up, Iwa-chan still won’t make it to class anyway!”

Iwaizumi decides to spare the death threats for now, noting the unnecessary happiness rolling from Oikawa’s voice, as if skipping class is a good thing. Finally, he forces his eyes to open and gazes at the warm body curling up next to him, drowsily thinking what a nice sight it is to wake up to. Oikawa playfully tosses an arm and leg over his body to lock him in place. Iwaizumi turns to his side to stare back at the other’s indulgent brown eyes.

When it comes to Oikawa, Iwaizumi has always been vigilant - even more so when Oikawa presented. Something in the back of his mind just _clicked_ , and all of a sudden his instincts started to turn the cogs Iwaizumi didn’t know was there; noticing the smallest details - the rhythm of Oikawa’s restless tapping fingers, the way he kneads his own hands, the depth of his footsteps that could either indicate confidence or hesitation, the barely noticeable twitch in his eyelids when something feels off.

And just like now, as Oikawa’s hand reaches for his shoulder, Iwaizumi can tell he’s thinking deeply by the way his fingers brush the fabric of his shirt, how his touch is slack and soft and just listless.

“You’re quiet,” Iwaizumi says, sensing his aura. “What’s wrong?”

Oikawa replies with a small smile, forever impressed with Hajime’s mind-reading powers. “Nothing. Should I be worrying about something?” Hajime only throws him a frown, but it fades away as soon as Oikawa burrows his face on his neck. “Is it bad that I keep thinking all of this is just a dream?”

“That’s a long ass dream you’re having then.” Iwaizumi’s hand moves to touch Oikawa’s face, his thumb grazing the smooth skin on his cheekbone. Before Oikawa could close his eyes at the soft gesture, Iwaizumi pinches his cheeks, earning a yelp of pain from the omega. “If this _is_ a dream, you better not wake up anytime soon, dumbass.”

“Do _you_ want to wake up from this dream?”

Iwaizumi leans over to press his lips against his forehead. He wants to tell him he feels the same, and that he’s scared all of this is just something his mind came up with, because he never really knew reality could end up better than his dreams. His hands slip under Oikawa’s body, tucking him in warmly against his own, brushing his nose into his neck as he breathes in deeply, scenting his sensitive spots. He hears Oikawa hum in comfort, letting his mate’s scent saturate him.

“Are we going to skip class and cuddle all day?” Oikawa asks shyly, and Iwaizumi isn’t sure if he’s serious or not. The offer sounds awfully inviting and the bed seems more comfortable than normal. “Because honestly that sounds like a really good idea if I weren’t so hungry.”

“Wanna get something to eat?” Iwaizumi suggests, his voice still raspy from too much sleep. He stops marking Oikawa for a moment and rests his chin on tops of his head. “There’s a breakfast place near the campus, just across the dome.”

“It depends. Do they have pancakes? Please tell me they have pancakes.” Oikawa cranes his neck up, voice thick with hope, eyes lighting up at the thought of food and breakfast with Hajime. He certainly doesn’t mind the company.

Iwaizumi nods and gives him a small smile. “Pretty sure they do.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The calming saxophones of “Stardust” streams from the speakers as Iwaizumi slides the doors open. The restaurant welcomes them with a thick air of freshly baked bread and hot chocolate, a much needed change from the chill outside. The interior reminds Oikawa of the French country houses he sees in foreign movies, rustic and elegant, with wooden beams and rose-red bricks, making the place stand out from the lane of coffee shops and diners. Dim, golden lighting bathes the space, illuminating the paintings of European countrysides, chalkboard menus, and old-fashioned counters.

“You’re definitely paying,” Oikawa says as soon as he steps inside, and Iwaizumi hopes he’s joking. He sees Oikawa swivel his neck to soak up the atmosphere, noticing the modern audience with their sleek business suits and silken skirts. Oikawa doesn’t look too out of place, sporting a woolen charcoal gray pea coat along with a faded coral scarf tucked inside.

Iwaizumi didn’t expect the cafe to be this fancy. It’s not too high-end, but it’s certainly not the kind of place where broke college students dwell despite its proximity to the university. He watches Oikawa as he chooses the table by the window.

He browses the small menu that’s already on their table, immediately searching for pancakes. “They have buttermilk pancakes.”

“Ooh, where’s that?” Oikawa asks, frantically searching for the specific page. The menu consists of mostly western-style breakfast, the names both in Japanese and English, and honestly Oikawa doesn’t know what half these meals are if it weren’t for the pictures. He settles for pancakes, as originally planned. “What are you ordering, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi had been opting for a heavy breakfast, but he noticed the menu doesn’t offer meals with rice, the majority of the food having gaudy foreign names written in katakana. “I guess I’ll go for the omelet and bacon.” His eyes scans the drinks section. “Oh, and coffee.”

“Okay then,” he mutters before standing up. Oikawa goes to the counter to order, but not before asking for Iwaizumi’s wallet. He rolls his eyes, telling Oikawa that he’s the one who’s going to pay for their dinner later.

The strong aroma tickles his senses as Iwaizumi’s gaze roam the cafe, although his vision keeps going back to Oikawa, who seems to be unknowingly flirting with the lady behind the counter. He doesn’t notice how girls look at him every time he smiles, and Iwaizumi hates it. Because as much as he doesn’t want to admit it, Oikawa is not an ordinary specimen, so it’s only natural that everyone is easily charmed by him.

Their food is served after several minutes.

The buttermilk pancakes look absolutely wonderful, and Oikawa doesn’t regret paying an extra hundred yen for additional fruit jam and whipped cream. Four pancakes are stacked neatly on top of each other, topped with berries and flecked with cranberry bits, the butter and syrup accenting the sweet smell and the smooth golden surface. He spears into the fluffiness with his fork and knife, the light brown syrup delicately curving down as he presses on it, the thick juices of the cranberries oozing beautifully within the insides of the bread as it creates a sugary pool of velvet red and brown all over the plate. Oikawa moans in delight as soon as he takes a bite.

“This is just heavenly,” he says, chewing the food on one cheek. “What a way to start the day.” Mornings with pancakes and Hajime. There’s no better morning than this.

Iwaizumi notes his reaction, and he looks at his own meal. He stares down in suspicion. “My omelet is green,” he tells to no one in particular as he stabs the questionable eggs with a fork.

The omelet is more of a light green than the usual yellow, and Iwaizumi assumes it’s probably because the vegetables and basil were pureed together with the raw eggs. He pokes it a bit more, the creamy softness letting out a visible puff of steam through its tiny air holes. It’s folded into a thick half-moon shape, bright red ketchup flowing delicately on one side, served alongside salad greens and large strips of bacon.

But he eats it anyway, deciding to judge the omelet by its taste, not its color.

And Iwaizumi regrets ever suspecting it.

“How is it? Is it as good as my pancakes?” Oikawa asks, his tone suggesting some kind of competition.

Iwaizumi shrugs, his mouth full. He swallows down the food before saying, “Can’t tell ‘til I taste yours.”

Oikawa knifes out a huge chunk and raises a forkful of pancakes in front of Hajime, one hand beneath it just to make sure he’ll catch it if it falls. “Careful. It’s still hot.”

Immediately, Oikawa bursts into a fit of laughter when Hajime finds a hard time biting onto it. He takes everything in his mouth, filling up his cheeks like a hamster hoarding its food. Iwaizumi hurries to break the huge blocks of pancakes and cranberries in his mouth. Swallowing the whole thing is almost painful, so he reaches for his cup of coffee to help it go down his throat.

“You fucking asshole,” Hajime coughs up. He glares at him, but Oikawa just smiles innocently in response, thinking how cute Hajime was. It’s Oikawa’s turn to reach out across the table, getting a small slice of omelet from his plate.

“Oh, _wow_ , I didn’t expect that,” Oikawa comments after tasting the green omelet. “The color looks like crap, but the cheese, Iwa-chan, _the cheese!_ What is up with that? It’s so good!”

Iwaizumi takes another bite, trying to get the overall mouthfeel. “I think it’s Gruyère… or something.”

“Sounds fancy,” Oikawa croons, tilting his head. “You should make it at home.”

He shrugs his shoulders. “And where exactly can we buy fancy cheese?”

Oikawa makes a noise to seem like he’s thinking, eyes looking up. “Maybe Ito-Yokado has them?” His face lights up with a gasp, clapping his hands together when an idea pops in his head. “Wanna check it out after school?”

“Sure,” Iwaizumi replies easily, mouth full with bacon and eggs. Honestly, how can he say ‘no’ to that face?

One of the waitresses approaches their table a minute after, holding a pitcher of coffee. She asks if Iwaizumi wants to have his cup refilled, and he nods, muttering a small thanks. Oikawa had ordered hot chocolate instead, so when he asks her if he could get a free refill too, she apologizes and tells him it’s only for the coffee. Oikawa pout, disappointed.

“Can I get you two lovebirds anything else?” she asks sweetly.

Oikawa chokes on his chocolate drink, brown liquid dribbling over his closed mouth. He gulps down the hot liquid before looking at the waitress, shaking his hands up defensively. “No, we’re not… We’re just…”

The lady looks legitimately confused. “Oh my, I’m sorry,” she says, giggling timidly. “I saw you feeding each other. I just thought it was really sweet.”

Oikawa feels a blush creeping up from his neck to his cheeks. The woman smiles at them and apologizes again. She tells them they can call her if they needed another refill before walking away. When she goes ahead to tend to another customer, Oikawa glances back at Hajime, who kept a blank face during the whole encounter.

“You could’ve told her,” Hajime says casually before taking a bite.

Oikawa tilts his head to the side. “Told her what?”

“That we’re bonded.”

His honesty catches him off guard as he looks down on his food, cutting some slices as guilt begins to creep up his back. “I wasn’t sure what to say. I thought you might get mad,” Oikawa says nervously, chuckling softly. “Iwa-chan’s the type of person who likes keeping things private after all.”

Iwaizumi notices Oikawa’s shoulders stiffen. His voice is almost a growl. “And _you’re_ the type of person who likes to tell the whole world what you’re doing.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen as he senses his uptight tone. It’s definitely not his Twitter habits Hajime is angry about. He tilts his head again, putting two and two together. “Iwa-chan,” he starts. “Are you worried I’m regretting this whole thing?”

He scrunches his brows together. “Are you? I mean, ever since then, you started acting weird.”

“Weird?” Oikawa repeats in disbelief. “I’m not acting weird.”

“You fidget when I touch you, you look away when I look at you…” Iwaizumi stops to take a deep breath. He dips his head down before staring back at Oikawa’s wide eyes. “Look, Oikawa, I owe you an apology. I put you in a tight situation. I knew that if I told you that I—well, if I told you what I feel, you won’t be able to say no.”

Oikawa freezes in place, eyes wide. “You didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to, Iwa-chan,” he almost yells out, voice frantic and desperate. “I’m—I’m just… It’s a little hard for me to…” he trails off, looking away, just like what Hajime had observed. “...to take it all in, you know?” His face falls in embarrassment, his fingers tapping the table’s surface. Seeing Hajime’s doubtful face makes his heart ache. He wouldn’t have said ‘I love you’ back if it wasn’t true. “I just never thought we’d be more than what we were.” He clears his throat out of nervousness. “And it got me thinking, what if I didn’t present? Would Iwa-chan still feel the same? Would you still like me this way?”

“Wait.” Iwaizumi blinks at the young man, stunned and offended. “You think it’s just my alpha instincts telling me to fall in love with you?” Iwaizumi would’ve laughed at the idea, but he didn’t because he thinks it’s stupid Oikawa thinks that way. “You thought I only confessed because you presented? What exactly do you take me for?”

Guilt starts to crawl up on him again, and Oikawa makes a humiliated sound, eyes squeezed shut, burying his face in his palms so Hajime can’t see the redness on his cheeks. “It’s not like that! I mean, Iwa-chan never showed any interest in me, even way back then!” His voice sounds muffled as he hides his face. “You only started being nice when I presented!”

Iwaizumi glares at him.

“Do you still remember the guys from class 2-B?” Iwaizumi asks out of the blue as he sees Oikawa slides his fingers apart to peek. He doesn’t wait for Oikawa to answer. “They kept teasing you, and about us being bonded and shit like that.”

Oikawa knew the boys Hajime was talking about. They were alphas who were a year or two older. He remembered how they liked bullying other kids from the lower grades, mostly betas and omegas, and Oikawa hated them. Just thinking about them makes his blood boil. He nods his head, not entirely sure where the story is going.

“I got angry. I let them get to me,” Iwaizumi continues. “I accepted a girl’s confession letter and dated her, to make those fucking morons think I have a mate, to keep them from teasing you - or me.” He takes a deep breath and looks away, suddenly unable to finish the story now that Oikawa’s staring at him carefully. His knee bounces, nervous, couldn’t believe he’s saying this out loud. “The thing is—the possibility of you and I being together – of _us_ being bonded, being mates, I realized I actually wouldn’t mind it at that time, and that I—I would’ve liked it better. But you didn’t seem to see me that way, so I really didn’t act on it until I was sure.”

Iwaizumi forces himself to look at Oikawa.

“I didn’t want to risk losing you.”

Oikawa wonders if it’s possible to fall in love with him again, because that’s exactly what Oikawa is feeling right now. He retreats back into the pit of his folded arms to hide his face again. It’s hard to look at Hajime now, not after with what he just said. He had always thought he had greatly underestimated his best friend, and at one point, he expected he wouldn’t be that kind of guy to give flowers and send him sappy text messages and live up to it.

“Iwa-chan, what the hell,” he mutters in embarrassment before abruptly sitting up again. “Are you blaming _me_ now? I can’t believe you!” Oikawa pouts and crosses his arms. “If anything, we’re _both_ at fault here,” he says more quietly. “We’re both idiots.”

Hajime huffs. “I know _you_ are.”

Oikawa lets out a small laugh before admitting, “I am an idiot.” He focuses back on his pancakes, hoping it didn’t turn too cold. “But you love me anyway.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t deny it and rolls his eyes, finding it hard to suppress a smile. He props one elbow on the table, as he forks through the creamy omelet. There’s a hint of basil and tomatoes when he eats up the rest of the omelet before swallowing carefully.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls out, his tone strangely serious as he squishes the cranberries on his plate. Iwaizumi stares up expectantly. “Why are you here?”

He scowls instantly, narrowing his eyes, fairly offended. “What kind of question is that?”

Oikawa flinches and smiles apologetically. “Well, it got me thinking…”

“I told you to stop overthinking.” He raises a brow. “Your head might hurt.”

“Oh, shut up.” Oikawa pouts. He lowers his head. “You wanted to stay in Miyagi, took up college prep, and you even passed the entrance exams in Tohoku University. But then you started studying again, even after your exams. I thought you were applying for another local school.”

Iwaizumi stares at the dejected figure of Oikawa before sighing. “Well, you got accepted in Chuo,” he says, jaw clenching. “And frankly—I can’t fucking believe I’m saying this right now,” he stops and draws in a deep breath. “I wanted to be with you, okay? I kept telling myself it’d be better if we separated, but really…” he pauses again. Simply thinking about it makes his heart hurt. “I was probably just looking for an excuse to get over you. But when you told me you were planning for aeronautics, I figured I could, you know, help you get there.” He shakes his head and laughs at himself. “I was never good enough in volleyball anyway. I know I can’t help you with that, so I thought I could just make up for it with something else.”

“Are you planning on building me a spacecraft or something?” Oikawa jokes, laughing softly. He wants to pull Hajime into a tight hug, his gaze towards the alpha nothing but tender.

Iwaizumi laughs with him because the idea doesn’t sound too far-fetched. “Actually, yeah. That’s the plan.”

Oikawa drags his eyes up to look back at Hajime. “I don’t know if you still remember, but back when were kids, you told me you’d bring me the stars.” He had to pause for a second to prevent his voice from cracking, brows furrowing downward. “So, _that’s_ what you meant.”

“Hey,” Iwaizumi says when he sees Oikawa’s eyes starting to look like frosted glass. “Are you seriously gonna cry right now?” A pang of guilt pierces his chest. There’s nothing more heartbreaking than an omega crying, more so if it’s Oikawa. He leans forward from his seat to wipe his sleeve on Oikawa’s eyes before the tears can roll down. “You’re really ugly when you cry, you know that?”

Oikawa blinks several times before the embarrassment comes seeping in. “At least—At least it’s only when I cry! Iwa-chan is ugly all the time!”

“Huh,” Iwaizumi scoffs, then smiles charmingly. “You don’t mean that.”

Oikawa pouts, sniffling. He glares at Hajime and his stupid smile. “I hate you.” Iwaizumi is sure he doesn’t mean that either, but he chuckles anyway. “Why are you always so mean to me?”

“I changed my entire life plan for a shithead like you. That doesn’t sound so mean now, does it?” Iwaizumi tells him before letting out an exhausted sigh. “You had a scholarship and I had to get in on my own.”

He sips from his cup, eyes glancing sideways. “Chuo University’s entrance exams weren’t that hard anyway…”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I memorized all the Tokugawa shoguns for you, dumbass!”

Oikawa purses his lips to stop a laugh, almost choking on his chocolate drink. Then a glint of sadness suddenly glares against his pupils, gaze fixed on the outside view. “Do you ever regret it?” he asks, brows drawing together, accentuating his doleful eyes. “Have you ever… reconsidered your decision? Coming here with me?”

Iwaizumi thinks it’s a stupid question. He thinks all of Oikawa’s questions today are stupid. When he tortured himself by studying for another entrance exam, he knew what the hell he was doing and where exactly he was heading. What does he have to do to make Oikawa believe that he’s everything he had ever wanted? Oikawa is the only one who could make him completely rewrite his plans. His life, his youth, his fate, his future - they’re all Oikawa’s now. Iwaizumi breathes deeply through his nose, having no earthly clue where Oikawa’s doubts are coming from. Are those pancakes drugged or something?

Meanwhile, Oikawa is waiting for an answer, lips pressed tightly together. There’s an uncomfortable pain twisting in Iwaizumi’s chest when he sees the omega’s upset brown eyes when he couldn’t reply immediately. Iwaizumi had to stop himself from standing up and kiss his fucking worries away, but he stays calm. It’s important he stays calm. It’s important that Oikawa believes him.

“Never in my life have I been more sure.”

Oikawa blinks stupidly at him, warmth spreading through his body at the realization that maybe Hajime had always loved him, even though he had weird way in showing it. He’s unable to keep himself from smiling, and looks out the window again, the woes welling up in his heart slowly melting.

“I’m glad,” he says quietly, relieved, staring at the tall buildings of their campus from afar. There’s a particularly strange rhythm in his heart. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Iwaizumi likes that on him, when he squints his eyes as he smiles, when his scent twists into something mild and tangy, when his skin turns all pink and flushed. He likes it so much he intentionally tries to bring out Oikawa’s flustered face whenever he gets the chance. And it’s been fulfilling so far. And just as he had admitted -- Iwaizumi is more than certain. He wants to see him smile like that every day, in the morning when he wakes up, in the quiet hours of the night, at every day of the week.

“By the way, Iwa-chan, I don’t have lab today, so we’ll still have time to go to—”

Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa’s eyes are browner, the amber glow from the restaurant and the sunlight seeping through the large windows falling over his face exquisitely like honey. His eyes seemed more like gold now as he smiles at the bustling view of the streets, talking about some places nearby he’d like to take his Iwa-chan to.

It’s almost strange how Oikawa is simply distracting; his expressions, his hands, his voice - he’s very animate, and Iwaizumi can’t keep his eyes away.

Oikawa stops mid-sentence when he catches Hajime’s reflection on the glass window, wearing an expression he had never seen before, green eyes watching him intently, lips curved into what appears to be a loving smile. It’s overwhelming. Hajime looks completely enamored, and Oikawa finds it hard to believe it’s directed at _him_. He had only seen that face in his dreams. How long was he looking at him like that? Oikawa glances quickly back at Hajime, meeting his fond eyes before it disappeared.

“Do I… have something on my face?” he asks just for the hell of it, not entirely sure on how to confront Hajime about it. He had wanted to tease him, like what he usually does, but his racing heart forbids him from rolling out even a simple snarky comment.

Hajime’s eyes flicker for one second before looking away, his smile replaced with a deep frown. He decides to play along, running a hand over his own shoulder and gripping the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah,” he says nervously, gaze now on Oikawa’s lips. “Maple syrup on your...”

Oikawa awkwardly wipes a napkin across his mouth. He’s trying not to blush like an idiot, but he simply can’t forget the tenderness that glossed over Hajime’s eyes earlier. “S-Still there?”

Hajime reaches out, letting the pad of his thumb drift softly over his bottom lip up to the corner of his mouth, and Oikawa could only sit there and blink in surprise as the heat washes over his face. Hajime leans back on his seat before saying, “It’s gone now.”

“Thanks,” Oikawa says softly with a smile. He proceeds to eat the rest of his breakfast while he continues to tell Hajime what he plans on doing later in the day.

Iwaizumi stares at him, seeing the different shades of pink rising to his cheeks and ears, hoping it’s because of him and not just the wintertime chill. He closes his eyes as he draws in a breath, and he feels himself slowly blushing too. Quickly, he looks away and takes a sip from his coffee.

There wasn’t anything on Oikawa’s face.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s almost the end of January and there’s only a week left for Iwaizumi’s group to finish their project.

For someone who had to keep up with the concept of teamwork all his life, Iwaizumi thinks it’s going to be a piece of cake working on his first official group project. He works effectively with a team, and he’s the type of person who can keep the group from falling apart with just a few words of encouragement. But then again, group projects are different from volleyball, and far from any sport he has ever played. Because two weeks later, their work is barely halfway done, leaving Iwaizumi frustrated that he would rather have done the whole goddamn project by himself.

He’s not the best when it comes to time management or creativity, and definitely not in academics, but damn his groupmates are making him think he’s the best out of all these things. Meetings are nearly impossible - and that’s not the worst part. They can only meet outside of class, but just like Iwaizumi who’s busy with laboratory, spending time with Oikawa and watching Doubutsu Sentai Zyuohger reruns, his teammates are no exceptions, and “sorry can’t come 2day” texts has been the norm.

It’s lunch time, and it’s like the stars have aligned because all four of his group members are available to meet up. The library is packed at this hour, so there’s only one group study table open. One of Iwaizumi’s alpha groupmates, Yazawa Koichi, runs immediately to the student librarian to have the area reserved, literally shoving anyone out of the way.

“I’m still gearing towards GeoTechnix, and that’s ‘techniques’ with an ‘x’ by the way,” Yazawa suggests as he writes down their group’s fake company name on a piece of paper. He shows it to everyone proudly.

“Why not GeoTechnology instead? Sounds more professional,” Masuda Yuichi, the beta sitting next to Iwaizumi chips in. He puts scribbles over Yazawa’s letters before focusing back on his laptop.

And then there’s Aoyama Keiko, the only lady in the group. The clerestory windows lights her features up nicely when she rolls her eyes. “Foreign names won’t make it eye-catching.” She shakes her head disapprovingly, crumpling the paper. “We should just name it based on our names, the one Ryohei-kun thought up.”

“That’s way too boring!” Yazawa protests, banging the table dramatically. “We’re trying to build a next generation wind turbine foundation, not an office building!”

Iwaizumi scans the small reading room. He sighs out loud so everyone can hear. “It doesn’t matter what name we come up with. Can we just continue with the research design? We’ll think about the name later.”

The three students look crossly at each other before following Iwaizumi’s orders to quiet down. They remain strangely silent until Inagaki Ryohei, the only person who’s taking this project seriously aside from Iwaizumi, speaks up.

“Uh, so now that we’re back on track,” Inagaki starts, almost with relief. Their professor assigned him as the team leader, though he’s not very good at getting everyone to behave. He has Iwaizumi for that. “Just as we’ve mentioned before, we’re still lacking in feasibility in chapter three. Hajime, Koichi, and I will be getting additional references. Keiko-chan can work on hat we already agreed on with the design and Yuichi can finish chapter four and check out the e-library if there’s something useful. How’s that?”

Iwaizumi is the first to stand up, the base of his chair squeaking loudly. He needs some air. Having to stay in the small study room with his groupmates is going to make him crazy. They’re quite an exhausting bunch.

“What do we need?” Iwaizumi asks calmly, three of them heading downstairs from the mezzanine.

They go through the east wing until they hear the quiet voices and the soft patter of footsteps swerving through the bookshelves. In line with the floor-to-ceiling windows, extensively bringing in natural light and solar warmth that makes the space almost relaxing, the library is white and bright. It almost sends a migraine through Iwaizumi’s senses.

“We need more info on Power Electronics, you know, uh, devices, circuits, grid connection standards. We can’t perfect the design without proper technology integration and planning processes.” Inagaki takes the lead as Iwaizumi and Yazawa follows behind.

“Okay, and then we can improve the classic rotorcraft system to—” Iwaizumi stops instantly as soon as he sees a familiar fluff of cinnamon hair hidden behind mountains of books. The moment he gets closer, a sweet smell mixed with thick anxiety makes his nose itch, his brain knowing exactly who’s nearby.

“Oikawa?”

The young man flinches in surprise, knocking over a tall stack of books. When Iwaizumi stomps over to his table, he gets the chance for a full view of Oikawa in a lab coat and a very poor disguise. The books on his desk and his thick-rimmed glasses catches Iwaizumi’s attention.

“I-Iwa-chan! What are you doing here?” Oikawa asks right away, skittish and avoiding eye contact. Iwaizumi can smell the coffee sticking on him. How much coffee did he have?

“You better give me a good explanation on why you’re skipping your Mechanics class,” he says firmly, features serious, arms crossing.

“First of all, how did you even know I have Mechanics right now? That’s so creepy, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa teases, mirroring Hajime and crossing his arms as well.

Hajime glares at him. “It’s only natural! You’re my—” he stops with an annoyed grunt.

“Your what?” Oikawa quirks an eyebrow, amused.

He narrows his eyes at him, managing to distract himself from Oikawa’s current get-up, glasses and coat and all that. “Never mind that. What are _you_ doing here?”

“Promise you won’t get mad?” he says in a low, childish voice.

Iwaizumi frowns. “Oikawa...”

“Promise me!”

“Fine” Iwaizumi scratches his head in annoyance. “I promise!”

He sees Oikawa relaxing a little, but he’s making sure not to make eye contact. “We have Chemistry lab later, and I don’t know _jackshit_ about the exercise we’ll be doing.”

Hajime stares at the man for a moment. “So, you’re skipping class to study for your next class?”

“Yeah, well, it sounds bad if you put it _that_ way—”

“Hey!” Iwaizumi hears someone yell from afar, making a few heads turn to Yazawa who’s gesturing for Iwaizumi to get going. “Stop flirting with your boyfriend! We have a project to finish here!”

He knows it’s a joke, but Iwaizumi fears others might think it’s not.

Amused, Oikawa looks back up at Hajime with a sarcastic smile. “My, my, Iwa-chan. I had no idea you’re my boyfriend now.”

He scoffs. “Better catch up with the news then.” Iwaizumi smirks. Without a thought, he lifts a hand and messes Oikawa’s already disheveled hair.  “I’m letting you off the hook this time, so don’t overwork yourself.”

“Okay,” he mutters, hiding half of his blushing face with the open book he’s holding. Oikawa thought Hajime would kiss him. He’s not going to be surprised if he did. Hajime might not be as bold as he thought.

Iwaizumi jogs back to Yazawa, who’s already holding a book about wind turbine engines, and apologizes.

“That’s Oikawa Tooru, right?” Yazawa asks, genuinely curious. It’s only normal Yazawa had heard of him, being a sportsman himself. “You’re rooming with him, aren’t you? Must be tough.” Iwaizumi’s lips twitch. “Oikawa Tooru sounds like a pain in the ass. I don’t get why girls like him. I _don’t_ , no offense, but you’re cool, man, you’re cool.”

Iwaizumi frowns at him, his aura drastically changing. “He’s my best friend.” His intimidating energy won’t work on an alpha like Yazawa, but he must’ve felt the shift in energy, as he says a small ‘sorry’ to Iwaizumi right after. He doesn’t sound very apologetic though. Iwaizumi’s not sure what to say next, the urge to punch him overpowering his thought process. “He’s pretty tolerable, as a roommate I mean.”

“Nice try, Iwaizumi,” Yazawa says, still incredulous, laughing.

“If you get to know him, he’s not that bad.”

“I’m gonna have to pass on that,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll leave taking care of Oikawa Tooru in your hands.”

Iwaizumi stares at the young man, sensing the distaste in his voice. “What do you mean by that?”

“Well, isn’t he an omega?” he asks him, although it seems like he’s not waiting for an answer. “Because, shit, I don’t think I can put up living with an omega, so kudos to you.” Yazawa shrugs his shoulders, the disfavor in his words evident. He shrugs his shoulders. “They’re just so... troublesome, you know? I honestly prefer beta girls. They’re harder to fuck, but way easier to take care of.”

Iwaizumi stays silent and rolls his eyes, walking stiffly through the shelves, only scoffing at Yazawa’s words. His frown worsens as he keeps talking on and on about his preferences for betas and how omegas shouldn’t get special treatment just because they’re omegas.

“Hey man, I’ll go back to the reading room.” Yazawa’s voice snaps him out of this thoughts, forgetting that he still needs to find references. “I have to help Keiko-chan with the drafts anyway.”

He looks up at Yazawa before nodding. The alpha pads out of the rows of books until he is out of sight. Iwaizumi raises his eyes to the ceiling, relieved he’s gone for now. He steadies his mood and schools down the rising agitation traveling all the way up from his stomach to his throat. It takes a full minute to calm his nerves down.

“Iwa-chan?”

At first, he thinks it’s his imagination, but then he starts to feel his presence getting closer, and when he turns around he sees Oikawa in his white lab coat, worn over his casual clothes, covering his arms and torso up to his thighs.

“I... was looking for a book, but then...” he mutters quietly, biting his bottom lip in uncertainty. Iwaizumi meets his eyes, looking unsure. “I kind of felt someone was calling me, if that even makes sense.” He laughs because he thinks it’s stupid.

Oikawa steps forward, closer, tilting his head.

“Iwa-chan? Are you okay?” Oikawa asks, voice lower and softer than usual, heavy with concern.

Oikawa’s trying to figure out what color his eyes are today. It looks kind of green, mixing in with silver. He can sense his unease even from afar, his scent roaring into a turbulent energy. There was a strong urge to run and find Hajime, to console him, and he caves in to the impulse.

Iwaizumi blinks in surprise, then he feels a soft hand lightly caress his cheek, and somehow he feels better already. “I’m fine, it’s just, this group thing isn’t really—”

Oikawa cuts him off, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips, a hand sliding under Hajime’s jaw, another warming his shoulder. He opens his eyes slightly, just so he can see Hajime’s face, whose cheeks are heating up into a deep red. Oikawa smiles, a little proud of himself. He’s never the one to pull off Hajime’s trademark surprise kisses, so Oikawa considers this a huge milestone.

He lets their foreheads touch. “It still feels kind of weird,” Oikawa says, licking his lips suggestively, and frankly Iwaizumi isn’t sure if it’s an invitation. “Kissing like this.”

Despite Oikawa’s efforts, Iwaizumi senses his hesitation, while his own body is practically screaming at him to get the fuck on with it. And so he lets his rationality succumb to his instincts, pushing Oikawa against an innocent shelf, the impact causing a few books to fall.

Trying to hush down his groans, Oikawa closes his eyes, sliding his fingers into Hajime’s hair, feeling a tongue sliding along his sealed lips until they let him in. The other tilts his head to side, eyes closed. Oikawa shivers at the contact. And for one second, he cracks an eye open, just to check if there are other people in the lane. Hajime goes on to press his lips and mark him along his jaw up to his ear, causing Oikawa to draw his shoulders together.

Iwaizumi untangles from him slightly, just enough to see Oikawa’s flustered face.

“You better get used to it,” Iwaizumi whispers and catches Oikawa pout before getting closer again, breathing against his skin. He lets his lips graze along the corners of his lips, before helping himself again with the other’s open mouth.

Oikawa is going to melt into a puddle if this keeps up, his body slowly misplacing the energy to stand up as he lets his weight be carried by Hajime. He draws in a sharp breath, flinching when he feels a cold hand on his waist, then under his shirt, brushing along his ribcage, going up and up until—

“I-Iwa-chan!” Oikawa almost yells out, pushing Iwaizumi’s arms down. He stares back at Hajime, brown eyes comically wide, glistening with nothing but utter shock and embarrassment. Hajime had never touched there before and it’s making his face all red. Oikawa covers his upper chest dramatically and cools his angry voice into a hushed sound, “What was that!”

Hajime stares back blankly at him, which annoys Oikawa even more, because here he is red and hot as the sun, getting all worked up just by being held close and being touched. But Iwaizumi growls softly in answer, pouting in disappointment. He glares at Oikawa, before resting his forehead on his shoulder. Oikawa just sighs, and pats Hajime’s head.

It feels kind of good, Iwaizumi admits.

But right now, Iwaizumi can’t describe how much he wants to get out of there and just _ravage_ him.

“Come on, Iwa-chan, let’s get going,” Oikawa suggests and tries to ignore the warm imprint Hajime had left on his chest. He can’t help but chuckle at Hajime as he dusts off his clothes. “Don’t you have a group project to work on?”

His voice breaks him away from this thoughts, and Iwaizumi draws his head back up. “And you have a lab exam to study for.”

“Sadly, yes,” Oikawa says, detaching from the shelf, ironing out his lab coat further. He lowers his head and kept his eyes on Hajime, giving off that slightly predatory look Hajime still isn’t sure how to translate. “If you need to get rid of that headache, you know where to find your medicine.”

Iwaizumi offers him a sigh and a small smile. “Go back and study,” he orders before picking up the books on the floor and sliding them back to their proper storage. He can at least do that much before walking out of the wall of shelves with Oikawa following behind.

Stopping to take a peek at Oikawa, he’s met with a tender smile. The young man then walks up to him and plants one last kiss on the corner on Hajime’s lip before happily skipping back to his study desk.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The neighborhood is quiet when Iwaizumi returns home that evening. He basks in the stillness of the night before walking to the side of their apartment building, walking up the stairs to the entrance, expecting the silence to be broken by a certain young man.

He doesn’t try to enter the apartment quietly, knowing Oikawa is still awake. He’s almost like a puppy, able to sniff out its human who’s still two blocks away. Iwaizumi yells out the usual “I’m home” before closing the door behind and taking off his shoes. There’s no response, so he peers around first, wondering why the lights are off.

It’s almost a natural occurrence for the television’s sound effects to fill the silence, and so Iwaizumi heads to the dark living room, only to see Oikawa on the floor, sunken and asleep beneath the kotatsu they had bought during the holidays, cheeks smooshed into a folded arm, body wrapped in a heavy blanket among a nest of scattered papers.

“Seriously,” he murmurs absently, shaking his head. Iwaizumi sighs and treads lightly by the kotatsu table. There are mandarin orange peels scattered on the surface, next to a laptop that has been left open, its spiraling galaxy screensaver dotting Oikawa’s face with subtle purple nebulas. He presses a random key to get rid of it and sees the desktop, cluttered and disorderly just like Oikawa’s nesting space.

“Looks unfinished…” Iwaizumi narrows his eyes at an essay on-screen, cut short with a series of randomly pressed keys. That’s probably the point when Oikawa could no longer stay awake and had banged the keyboard with his head. He then turns to the sleeping omega, reaching out to wake him, but stops when his vision trail over his placid features, reading glasses crooked on the side of his head. He wants to let him sleep, and carry his heavy ass to bed, because he looks so comfortable, his expression soft like he’s lying on the moon.

But he doesn’t want Oikawa to stress out for not finishing his paper the next morning. He might need to skip another class.

“Oikawa,” he mutters, gently shaking his shoulder. He says his name again, but this time as an insult. “Shittykawa, wake up.”

Oikawa’s eyes snap open, like an experiment waking up for the first time in Oikawa’s favorite sci-fi movies. The sleepiness drains away instantly, replaced with big eyes.

“What time is it?!” Oikawa croaks loudly, jerking to sit up, eyes wide at Hajime.

“Relax,” Iwaizumi says. “It’s a quarter before ten.”

He hears him groan in frustration, hands dragging angrily across his face. “I was supposed to take a nap for like _five_ minutes…!” Oikawa readjusts his eyeglasses and quickly turns to his laptop. “Ah, shit, I still have to finish this,” he whispers to himself before finally taking in how close Hajime is.

Blinking, he finally notices Hajime waiting next to him. He tries to look happy. “Oh, and welcome home, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi reciprocates his sleepy smile. “It’s bad sleeping under the kotatsu, dumbass.” He hears the other whine and muttering something about that being false, and that’s it’s just an old man’s superstition.

“How can you get a cold if you’re underneath something so warm?”

Almost by instinct, he raises his hand steadily, his fingers running through Oikawa’s hair on one side. In his tired and weak state, the dark circles under his eyes are more obvious. It’s rare to see him stressed out over schoolwork. “Did you have dinner already?”

He nods happily. “I stopped over a konbini before going home.” Iwaizumi grunts and looks at him disapprovingly, but Oikawa only laughs, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against Hajime’s. “I didn’t want to cook and I know Iwa-chan would come home late.”

Iwaizumi welcomes the gesture. If it’s a way to charge him up, he doesn’t mind. He stops the urge to kiss him this time. “You shouldn’t eat too much konbini food.”

“But I’m so busy,” Oikawa answers, slowly pulling away. He relaxes slightly before sinking back beneath the kotatsu, sitting closer to his laptop. He takes a thick book that has been hiding under the covers and opens it at a certain page. Oikawa then continues to type, tilting his head to the side in concentration, serious eyes fixed on the screen. “Iwa-chan’s busy too. I hate it.”

“It can’t be helped,” he tells him. Now that’s spring break is around the corner, their professors have been bombarding them with schoolwork. Iwaizumi frowns at the thought, standing up. “You still up for a second dinner? I can cook up something real quick.”

Oikawa shakes his head as the laptop keys tick endlessly. “I’m not hungry,” he says, his voice stale and flat. He lets out a long, exhausted breath, but doesn’t say anything after and kept typing.

“Okay,” Iwaizumi says before heading to the kitchen, noticing Oikawa’s eyes involuntarily closing, his head bobbing constantly, his body probably begging him to go to sleep. “How about coffee?”

“Coffee sounds nice.”

There’s an unused coffeemaker in their cupboards, and Iwaizumi thinks it’s a good time to bring it out. His mother had originally bought it as a wedding gift for a friend, but she had forgotten to bring it on the actual day of the wedding, and she ended up having to buy something else on the way.

The small memories of his mother brings a small smile to his face, as he proceeds to cut open a pack of coffee beans Oikawa had bought impulsively from a coffee shop (mainly because he likes the pretty packaging). The coffeemaker lets out awkward squirting sounds as hot water seeps through the coffee filter and onto the pot. That rich smell makes up for it though. Several seconds later, Iwaizumi takes the pot and pours some of the coffee into Oikawa’ favorite mug that had the words ‘USCSS Nostromo’ printed on it.

Oikawa hates coffee, and Iwaizumi knows that. But he drinks it because it keeps him awake and the smell alone can give him a boost of energy. He’d always complain how bitter it is, and would pour in half a carton of milk and still think it’s nasty. Iwaizumi needs to make it more tolerable somehow, so he pours in powdered chocolate into the mix, as well as condensed milk and stirs carefully to melt everything together. The color transforms into a beautiful light brown, reminding him of Oikawa’s hair. He then sprinkles in a dash of cinnamon and powdered milk on top.

Iwaizumi simply places the cup of coffee next to the laptop without a word.

The young man by the kotatsu stops typing. “Is this espresso?” he says, brows furrowed. He blinks up at Hajime, looking at him suspiciously. “I don’t like—”

“Just try it, dumbass.” He cuts him off and places his hands on his hips.

Oikawa stirs the contents cautiously. At first, he thinks it’s bitter, but then on the second sip, the taste starts to sit on his tongue. The sweetness nips his buds delicately, the chocolate and milk finally overpowering the sharp flavor he disliked so much. There’s this invigorating aroma that pierces through his sleepiness as he takes a bigger sip, letting the warmth perch on his tongue.

“Now _this_ is serious gourmet shit.”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and laughs softly. “I used the coffeemaker.”

“We should use it more,” Oikawa says, sipping loudly from his mug. “And stop making instant coffee. Those things are just awful.”

Iwaizumi flops on the sofa, positioning himself behind Oikawa so the omega can recline on his legs like a chair’s backrest. He tries to concentrate and pay attention to the television drama rather than worrying about Oikawa, whose scent keeps getting thicker with exhaustion. Iwaizumi frowns as he stares at the screen. But the drama ends quickly, and the segment quickly shifts into evening news.

The news starts out with politics, then possible snowstorms in the provinces, then to a murder case still being investigated by authorities. The tapping of the keys stops, and Iwaizumi looks curiously at Oikawa. He watches him as his fingers freeze over the keyboard, his head slowly turning to stare at the television.

“ _The body of a 27-year-old omega woman who vanished last Friday was found today in a river in the small town of Otari—_ ”

It’s cut off when Iwaizumi changes the channel.

“Isn’t there anything else to watch?” he asks, pretending to be frustrated at their digital cable box. He senses Oikawa’s unease slowly disappearing.

“There aren’t any good shows on.” Oikawa dips his head and smiles down at his laptop. “I already checked.”

Iwaizumi surfs through the channels until he reaches the foreign language channels at the very end, then he goes back to the first few channels again, deciding to leave it at a cooking show if he ever comes across one. Those things always calm him down.

He stops at TBS where a cooking competition seems to be taking place. A tall, beautiful woman, who seems to be half-Japanese and half-something, is one of the two presenters, speaking in seemingly perfect Japanese. The crowd by the studio set begins to go crazy when a celebrity guest comes running to the stage as one of the contestants. Iwaizumi recognizes him, but a name doesn’t come up.

“Oh, I love that show,” Oikawa says, hitting the laptop keys like a machine. “That woman is like this super famous chef overseas, and then local celebrities who can’t cook has to compete with her.”

“The lady host is pretty,” Iwaizumi mutters without thinking, eyes glued at the female chef. “She’s half-foreign, so she seems kinda tall too.”

Oikawa flinches, a frown immediately taking over when he twists his head to look at Hajime. Iwaizumi jerks back in surprise, noticing the intense flash of jealousy that had dominated Oikawa’s aura.

“What?” Iwaizumi asks him, brows raised.

His eyes narrow. “You’re trying to make me jealous,” Oikawa accuses, his tiredness and the coffee probably messing up with his emotions.

He isn’t, though. Looking down, Iwaizumi meets the other’s eyes and smirks. “Did it work?”

Oikawa blinks in surprise, cheeks turning into a rosy color. He pouts angrily and snaps his attention back to his essay, tapping the keys loud and hard Iwaizumi thinks he might break the damn thing.

“Hey, come on,” Iwaizumi calls out, kicking Oikawa’s side softly as he remains unfazed. “I was kidding, you moron.”

He growls in response as Iwaizumi keeps nudging him with his feet. “Stop that.”

Iwaizumi stops kicking and instead slides his legs under Oikawa’s armpits, wrapping them around his torso, using his ankles to lock him into place. Ducking his head, he leans down and kisses the top of his head. He feels Oikawa relax at the touch, his shoulders dropping along with the tension that’s been building up.

He smells like fatigue - fabric softener, clean sweat, and the acidic undertones of coffee and exhaustion mixing together, forming a distinctive scent.

“Hurry up and finish your paper so we can sleep already,” Iwaizumi grunts impatiently, pulling the other closer and burying his face in his hair laced with watermelon shampoo.

“You don’t have to wait for me.”

Iwaizumi stays silent, and Oikawa can already tell what’s on his mind. Oikawa leans back, craning his head up so he can steal a kiss. He snuggles against Hajime’s neck, tilting at a certain angle to nip at his earlobe.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters, smiling against Hajime’s skin. His hand lifts up to grab the back of Hajime’s neck in an attempt to kiss him on the lips. Then he pulls away, laughing through a sigh when he turns to face the laptop again.

“I’m out of suppressants, by the way,” Oikawa says out of the blue. He clears his throat, lips pressed together.

His heat is coming up soon. Iwaizumi knows that. “We’ll buy some tomorrow,” he says simply, not thinking too much about it as he glances back up at the television screen.

Oikawa tenses, his shoulders squaring. “I don’t want to,” he says shyly.

“Hah?” Iwaizumi asks in pure confusion. “What do you mean you don’t want to?”

There’s a short moment of silence. Oikawa then lowers his head, his voice exceptionally quieter. “I want to stay and spend my heat here at home.” He takes deep breath. “With you.”

Iwaizumi freezes, feeling all the blood rushing between his legs for some reason. He doesn’t know what to say, not exactly sure if Oikawa’s decision is sensible, considering their inadequacy and lack of experience when it comes to their newfound affair. He senses a change in Oikawa’s energy, and from his view he can see him fiddling his fingers.

“Unless Iwa-chan doesn’t want to, I mean, that’s—that’s fine. I—”

His achingly painful voice makes Iwaizumi want to punch a wall.

“I want to,” he murmurs lowly at first. Iwaizumi then closes his eyes and swallows whatever’s blocking his throat. “Shit, I want to, okay?” He repeats, louder and sterner. Realizing he had just admitted wanting to help Oikawa with his heat made his cheeks flare up into a dark red, turning his face to the side so he could hide them.

Oikawa blinks in surprise as his heart almost stops. He forces himself to look at Hajime, whose eyes are glued on the opposite wall, a hand awkwardly covering the bottom half his face. It’s almost cute. And Oikawa couldn’t stop the grin twisting his mouth.

Iwaizumi glances at him and just as quickly looks away. He catches Oikawa’s smile, winding up a charming expression he can never find himself getting used to. Releasing a big loud breath, he bends forward and grabs Oikawa’s wrist, yanking him into his arms

“Skip that stupid essay and let’s go to sleep.”

It’s easy to relax against Hajime’s chest and Oikawa didn’t waste time reveling in it. “I’m almost done,” Oikawa hums, laying his forehead against Hajime’s cheek. He takes in his scent with a deep inhale, noticing the earthy whiff of impatience. “Give me two and a half hours.”

Iwaizumi frowns. “I can’t wait that long.”

The soft ticklish laughs that came out when Iwaizumi nuzzles his neck is enough to lull him to sleep, realizing all he really wants to do right now is to hold Oikawa close.

He’s not usually this selfish, but he makes this a one-time exception.

Oikawa can skip one class tomorrow.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The days passed by undisturbed, and Oikawa is thankful that the schoolwork had been reduced by a tremendous amount - though he can’t quite say the late-night cramming isn’t necessary anymore, because really, it still is. It’s not much of a surprise when his Quantum Physics class looks straight out of a post-apocalyptic zombie movie, the students forcing their bodies to attend class even without any sleep.

His last class for today felt like an eternity, and he’s pretty certain that the classroom’s heating was broken the entire time, because one second he’s shaking against his already thick coat (courtesy of Hajime) and the next second,  the room decides to emulate the flames of hell. His concentration was all over the place, and he’s too uncomfortable with the fluctuating temperature to focus on the lecture.

An hour later, the professor dismisses the class. Oikawa lets out a yawn as he walks out of the lecture room with the rest of the students. He pulls up his phone, clicking on the calendar to double-check when his heat would pop up. There’s a sticker of a cute wolf in his calendar app, right in the middle of the January 30th box. He’d be lying if he said he isn’t worried about his first heat of the year, especially when he brazenly announced how he wants to spend it with Hajime.

“Hey.”

He instantly stops and snaps his head back up.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa breathes out, his voice is barely above a whisper. His wide brown eyes stare back at Iwaizumi, lighting up with both surprise and disbelief.

“My class finished early,” Iwaizumi says before looking away, hands hiding in his pockets as he leans against the hallways windows. He admits with a slight blush and a sheepish hand on the back of his neck, “I thought we can go home together for a change.”

“Good timing, ‘cause I totally lost my keys.” The tension piling up in Oikawa’s shoulders relaxes. He tilts his head, his face breaking into a wide smile, a hand resting on his chest. “But I can’t believe Iwa-chan waited for me. What a loving boyfriend.”

Iwaizumi grunts and rolls his eyes, because Oikawa knows he had always waited for him on more than one occasion. “Shut up and let’s go.” He turns around and starts walking out of the corridor, following the current of students.

Oikawa snorts and narrows his eyes. “I take that back.” He adjusts the bag strap on one shoulder and jogs to Hajime. “You’re the worst.”

The frosty air greets them by the time they’re outside the building. Oikawa huddles closer into his coat, shivering slightly when a breeze serves by. He could feel his lips dry up.

Iwaizumi peers at him. “I’ll come home late this Friday,” he starts then clears his throat.

“What?” Oikawa asks, sounding more disappointed than curious. He slows his pace. “Is it that group project thing again?”

“I have a part-time job.”

“Part-time job,” he echoes, then with big wide eyes shakes his head, grabbing Iwaizumi’s arm. “I’ve never heard of this!”

“You think they’d just let me open up the planetarium during the holidays without giving something in return?” Iwaizumi asks, one brow raised.

Oikawa blinks before tightening his grip on his sleeve. The memories of that certain night brings a slight color on his cheeks. “Take me with you then.”

“I don’t think they need to hire another technician—”

“Take me with you!”

“I can’t just bring you with me.” Iwaizumi groans in resignation. “Why do you want to go so badly anyway?”

He’s standing on the sidewalk, releasing Iwaizumi’s sleeve when he looks away, lips sticking out into a pout. Hajime’s new job meant less quality time together, and it bothers him because he simply cannot bear the thought of having to spend a night without him.

Oikawa peers at Hajime’s face indecisively and frowns. “I want to make sure you’re not going to cheat on me.”

“I wouldn’t—why would you even…” He pauses, his lips pulling down into a scowl. “You’re a fucking dumbass, you know that?” Iwaizumi snaps back, offended at the accusation, waffling between appearing angry or hurt.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, you’ve been telling me that for like seven years now,” Oikawa says. Hajime doesn’t make an effort to retort and walks ahead of him, a hint of anger clear in his scent and body language. One part of him is shocked to get this reaction from him, the rest of him wanted to hug Hajime and apologize. Because even though Hajime had always been quite a hostile fellow, he had never seen him truly offended before.

“Iwa-chan, hey,” Oikawa calls out ruefully, trying to catch up to the other’s fast-walking. He pinches the back of Hajime’s coat and drones, “I’m sorry. I know you won’t cheat on me.”

He feels Oikawa tugging the fabric of his clothes from behind, so he decelerates. “Of course I fucking won’t.”

Smiling a little, Oikawa senses the bad energy gradually disappearing. “I can’t tell if you’re angry or just aggressively sweet.”

Iwaizumi stomps one foot down before halting completely. He glances over at Oikawa carefully, forcing the anger away. “I’m not angry.”

“Aggressively sweet it is, then.”

His cool green eyes cut through him, as Oikawa attempts to blink away the visible sadness in his own brown eyes. Oikawa dips his head down.

“I don’t want you to have a part-time job,” he finally confesses. “It means you’ll have to come home late! I’ll have to spend less time with Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at his pettiness before grunting in frustration. “It’s only on Friday nights, Oikawa,” he assures him. He sighs, grabbing Oikawa’s wrist which had been gripping his coat for a while now. It doesn’t matter that they’re in the middle of the university’s courtyard, and that they’re surrounded by several other students. He squeezes Oikawa’s palm gently as reassurance, breathing out a short chuckle. “Besides, aren’t you getting tired of spending so much time with me?”

“I’ll never get tired of you,” Oikawa mutters sadly, voice small, brows furrowed, eyes doleful like a puppy. He can’t help but look back at Hajime’s boyish smile, whose hands are still clasping his.

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Hajime says, still smirking.

Oikawa manages to beam back, letting his eyes travel all the way up in the sky - still light blue and heavy with clouds. “You know, it’s still a bit early. Wanna do something together?”

Iwaizumi finally lets go, realizing he had been holding his hand for too long. “Like what?”

He presses his lips together. “I don’t know, like, go downtown to eat or whatever.” He plays with his fringes, and Iwaizumi knows he only does that when he’s nervous. He’s never like this when he invites him out, so this is a refreshing scene. Is Oikawa asking him out on a date? Because if he is, Iwaizumi is very much willing.

“Have some place in mind?” He watches as Oikawa walks past him, humming. Iwaizumi follows him, letting the other stroll a few steps ahead of him.

“Hmm, not really, but… think about it. We’ve been living here for a long time now, and we haven’t actually gone and explored it. We haven’t even seen the Tokyo Tower yet!”

“Well, yeah,” Iwaizumi says, shrugging. “What did you expect? We have volleyball training, lab, classes, exams…” He could go on and on. There were too many things stacking up, and recently Oikawa’s heats had been taking over their rare leisure time.

“Then why don’t we go somewhere fun today?” Oikawa suggests.

Iwaizumi blinks. “So, like a date?” He doesn’t tear his eyes away from Oikawa when the young man turns to smile at him.

“Yeah, like a date.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Adjusting to the bustling city life wasn’t as hard as Iwaizumi had initially thought. He had Oikawa to share the new environment, and Oikawa was too damn good at adapting to it. His Sendai accent disappeared entirely like he had lived in Tokyo for years, and he’d often laugh at his Iwa-chan, teasing him because Iwaizumi would unconsciously slip in his accent in the simplest of phrases, dropping and switching particles “like his grandfather”, as Oikawa keeps telling him. It was simply an exaggeration, since his grandfather’s Miyagi-ben was so thick even Oikawa couldn’t understand him at times. Aside from that, the adjustment period had been easy. The more days passed, the less comfortable the setting became. It was sort of like playing volleyball – it never gets easy, it just gets less hard with enough practice.

The first thing Iwaizumi noticed was the people - there were a lot of them. It was ten times more than the people in his hometown, which he thought was already overpopulated. Iwaizumi learned to walk quicker on the sidewalk, stopped looking around like a lost puppy, gladly accepted packets of free tissue from cute girls handing them out as advertisements from the shops they work for.

But amidst the big city calamity, ridiculous people traffic and free pocket tissues, the first thing Oikawa noticed was the unacceptable lack of stars.

“It’s kinda cool,” Oikawa says, breaking the silence, making Iwaizumi avert his gaze from the dark purple sky to look at him as they walk to the train station. Oikawa had been staring worriedly at his smartphone the entire trip that Iwaizumi had to literally steer him away to keep him from bumping into poles and people. “You know how heats follow the lunar cycle, right?”

Iwaizumi blinks. “Oh, like werewolves?” he asks, and Oikawa swears he saw his eyes brighten with strange interest.

“Yeah, I guess,” Oikawa replies with uncertainty, not really aware of general werewolf habits. He breathes out a nervous laugh. “My heat would always start after a full moon.”

He’s happy Oikawa can talk about his heats so casually now. “You check the moon phases to track it?” he asks him, craning his neck up to look at the lonely, almost translucent moon, big and round and awfully brighter than usual. “It’s a full moon tonight.”

Oikawa nods and looks up too, smiling unconsciously. “Full moons only happen when the moon is on the opposite side of the earth from the sun, so all three bodies are aligned in one straight line.”

Iwaizumi switches his vision back to Oikawa, who’s smiling lovingly at the sky like he had fallen in love with it. Somehow, he finds himself smiling too, and a little jealous, letting the other chatter endlessly about ecliptic coordinate systems even though Iwaizumi has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. But he just lets him happily babble away. He doesn’t want to see that smile fade soon.

He stops walking when the traffic lights turn green and the waiting cars accelerate.

“Look where you’re going, idiot.”

Oikawa’s eyes widen when a car drove by dangerously close to him. Hajime had snagged him away just in time, preventing him from crossing the street with the green light on. More cars pass by as he feels Hajime behind him, his fingertips still on his waist.

His stomach flips.

Oikawa has his shit together. He’s totally not a mess right now.

“What’s with you?” he hears Hajime ask, both in concern and annoyance.

He doesn’t look at Hajime in the eye, not wanting to admit that he had been spacing out and that he’s totally not thinking about their First Official Date and spending his heat with Hajime because the full moon is going to wane soon and that means Hajime’s going to do something about his heat soon too, and he’s freaking out because he doesn’t know how that will turn out.

Nope, totally not a mess.

Just as he attempts to distract Hajime, his vision spots a supermarket just across the pedestrian crossing instead.

“C-Can we drop by Maruetsu?” Oikawa asks back frantically, not answering Hajime’s question.

Iwaizumi notes the blush rising in his cheeks. “I didn’t know your ideal Tokyo itinerary includes side trips to the grocery store.”

Oikawa snaps his head back at him. “It doesn’t!” He clears his throat, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “I need to – There’s something I need to buy.”

Once inside, Oikawa grabs a specific pill bottle by the health care section. It’s a different kind of pill, and he doesn’t tell Hajime what it’s for when he puts it in the shopping basket along with items Hajime had needlessly put it because they were out of bath soap and detergent and Hajime thought he might as well buy some since they’re already here.

“Hm, let’s make curry for dinner tomorrow,” Iwaizumi suggests out of the blue as he heads to the vegetables section.

Oikawa is regretting dragging him there because now Hajime is on full grocery shopping mode. “Where are you going? The curry aisle is that way,” he says, watching Hajime walk to the opposite direction. Oikawa jogs to catch up to him.

“We can make it from scratch.”

“Iwa-chan, everybody knows you _buy_ curry, not _make_ them.” Hajime ignores him and Oikawa rolls his eyes. “And I don’t want you carrying a bunch of vegetables when we go to the Tokyo Tower! Come on,” Oikawa says, patting him on the back before he grabs both shoulders and pushes Hajime to the right aisle like a shopping cart.

Then he raises two boxes of instant curry roux to his face. “Vermont or Torokeru?”

Iwaizumi just glares at him. “Torokeru, obviously.”

“Eh…” Oikawa whines, shoulders sagging. “I like Vermont better. Let’s buy Vermont.”

He glares at him and punches the other in the arm. “Why the hell did you bother asking me then?” Oikawa only pouts back.

Iwaizumi hates Vermont Curry. It’s too sweet, and perhaps it’s the reason why Oikawa likes it. But he lets Oikawa buy the damn thing anyway, along with curry-flavored potato rings that they had unfortunately encountered on the way to the cashier, because now Oikawa is curious what that would taste like and he buys three packets.

By the time they leave, Oikawa forces the groceries into Hajime’s backpack, insisting that “Iwa-chan’s bag is bigger” compared to his tiny messenger bag.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“See? So much cheaper than the Skytree.”

Iwaizumi huffs, angrily shoving the tickets in Oikawa’s hands as an orange wheeled robot welcomes them inside. “It’s cheap ‘cause I’m paying for it.”

The other man just sticks a tongue out before running excitedly to the elevator. Iwaizumi stares at his almost empty wallet. He should’ve brought more money if he knew they were going on a goddamn field trip. That’s two-thousand-eight-hundred yen gone in merely two seconds.

The lights sticking to the steel bars made the Tokyo Tower look like a giant bonfire at night, incandescent yellows gradually heating up the spire into bright bold red. There’s a long flight of stairs before they can reach the elevator leading to the observatory, and he lets Oikawa take the lead. Iwaizumi stays calm until he hears Oikawa shout.

“Last one to reach the top will wash the dishes for a month!”

Iwaizumi opens wide and he impulsively breaks into a run. “You fucking cheater!” he barks out, climbing the stairs with the intense motive to win. With the wind whipping across their faces and their clothes, he easily overtakes Oikawa - whose eyes widened as soon as Iwaizumi hops right past him.

Their feet hit the last steel step with a heavy clang, and Oikawa stumbles forward, Iwaizumi yanking him up at the right moment.

“You’re such an asshole,” Oikawa mutters, panting heavily. Several people glances over them curiously.

“ _I’m_ the asshole?”

 He frowns at Hajime and snaps. “Ugh, why do I even bother? I never win!”

“You’re a hundred years too early to beat me,” Iwaizumi says calmly, but just as out of breath. He flashes him a triumphant smirk. Oikawa narrows his eyes at him and sucks in a breath to retort, but decides against it and just puffs his cheeks, which Iwaizumi pinches with both hands.

“Iwa-chan, first of all, you’re supposed to let me win,” Oikawa drones and whines, attempting to free himself from the other’s grasp but inevitably gives up, letting Hajime stretch his cheeks and face hilariously. “I thought you loved me!”

Iwaizumi's lip twitches into a frown. “That’s not fair,” he mutters, freeing Oikawa’s now pink cheeks. “Stop challenging me on things you know you’ll never win at.”

“I was way ahead of you!" Oikawa pouts. "I was so sure I’d win.”

“That’s what you get for cheating.” Iwaizumi then beckons him with a wave of a hand. “Stop whining and hurry up. Don’t you want to reach the observatory?”

Oikawa massages his sore cheeks and follows Hajime.

The first floor of the tower, which is a hundred meters above the ground, is packed with tourists – the restaurants and souvenir shops inside being the most popular cluster. The glass walls barely did any good, as people had already piled up to watch the late sunset. Instead of grabbing his hand, Oikawa opts to just squeeze a part of Iwaizumi’s sleeve, then he drags him out of the crowded area and towards a flight of stairs.

“Let’s go to the special observatory,” Oikawa says, smiling in excitement and flashing him the tickets he had bought. “People didn’t bother to pay for the second deck, so it should be less crowded.”

There’s another set of stairs to climb, and Iwaizumi is getting tired.

In the middle of the illuminated stairwell, Iwaizumi already has his hands on his knees, and he wonders he’s the one with a knee injury, because Oikawa is still up and running, seemingly unaffected by the long hike, his enthusiasm overpowering his exhaustion.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shouts, his voice resonating through the wide space of the tower’s observation deck and mixing in with the crowd’s noise. “Take a picture of me here!”

He takes a deep breath before replying, eyes rolling, “Fine. Give me your phone.”

“Your camera phone looks better in the dark!”

Iwaizumi sighs loudly before examining Oikawa closely. He takes out his camera as ordered. Oikawa sits on one of the steps, making sickeningly adorable poses and peace signs. He takes a couple of pictures before Oikawa jogs down a few steps.

“How is it? Do I look cool?

 _You look beautiful._ Iwaizumi gives the photo he took a long hard look before tearing his eyes away to look at Oikawa. “You look like _shit_.” He clicks his tongue. “And your pose pisses me off.”

Even if Oikawa’s a good ten feet above, Iwaizumi can see him puff his cheeks, calling him mean and stupid. He stops the urge to smile as he stares at his phone gallery once more.

“Then do it again!”

Iwaizumi groans from below and narrows his eyes. But he snaps more pictures, again and again – keeps saying the photo ended up bad; the lighting’s off, his eyes were closed, his face turned out blurry. He doesn’t tell Oikawa every single photo is more than perfect, and that Iwaizumi simply likes taking all these photos of him.

The upper observatory floor is quieter, and definitely much more romantic, Oikawa thinks suddenly. The walls are replaced by tall glass windows, reaching the roof down to the floor for a crystal clear view. Oikawa runs to an empty telescope and peeks through it, with Iwaizumi simply following him. He’s satisfied just watching Oikawa all giddy and happy.

“I don’t like stargazing during a full moon,” Oikawa admits, still looking through the telescope despite his disappointment. He leans back, staring at the view instead. Iwaizumi catches his lips curving into a small frown. “It’s too bright and it overpowers the stars. That’s why there aren’t any tonight.”

From above, the city lights of Tokyo look like stars themselves, like lanterns floating on a dark lake. But as the night deepens, Iwaizumi finds himself staring at Oikawa more and more. His eyes are bright, a saving grace from the dizzying metropolis and as clear as the glass floor beneath their feet. He wonders if Oikawa realizes how difficult it is to appreciate the city lights at that very second. Because it must’ve looked breathtaking from their view, with how Oikawa would sigh out words of awe.

“The city looks nice from here,” Iwaizumi says, although he’s not exactly telling the truth.

It’s a pity Iwaizumi can’t see the view clearly, not when Oikawa is standing there, a warm, childlike smile painting over his features, making the city lights completely disappear.

“Iwa-chan, come and take a look!” Oikawa invites him closer. His eager voice breaks Iwaizumi out of his astral trance. He looks, just as Oikawa had told him. He tries his very best to goddamn look at the view, and not at Oikawa.

Iwaizumi scoots in a little closer, noticing the smile slowly falter from Oikawa’s lips. He asks him if he’s okay, cocking his head to the side. Oikawa tells him he’s fine, like always.

Then the exhaustion kicks in and Oikawa’s knees finally give up. With his gaze still hooked on the sparkling scene below, he bends and squats down on the floor, folding his arms over his knees. There’s a visible, wistful sigh when Oikawa breathes out against his reflection.

“We’re so high up and there’s not a single star in the sky. It’s such a waste!”

He frowns. “Forget about the stars,” Iwaizumi assures him right away and crosses his arms. How can Oikawa worry about them when he’s a goddamn star himself? “They aren’t going anywhere. You just have to trust them that they’re somewhere out there in the dark.”

Oikawa turns to smile at him, eyes soft and half-covered. “Like how I trust you?”

Iwaizumi raises an curious eyebrow and turns to look at him. “What?”

Oikawa responds with a warm smile. “I’ve always trusted you, you know? I knew you’ll find a way to be with me, because I didn’t know how, and I... didn’t know what to do.” He looks down on the ground then burrows his face into his arms, feeling a familiar ache in his chest. “I wanted to be with Iwa-chan, but I was too much of a coward to do something about it.”

At this point, Iwaizumi no longer cares that there are other people around. He bends down to his level and melts his heartache away. After that fleeting warmth on his lips, Oikawa immediately loses his hold on his past worries.

The truth is, Iwaizumi would’ve followed Oikawa anywhere. It doesn’t matter where, or when, or how. Because just as the stars keep shining millions of miles away and for millions of years to date, Oikawa has always been his, and his alone.

And he doesn't need to tell Oikawa that.

He already knows.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

There’s no itinerary.

Oikawa didn’t plan or prepare anything, simply wanting to walk around the patchwork of skyscrapers and shrines and parks with tall trees and stray cats. Because just as the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry, Oikawa is satisfied with this impromptu date. He drags Iwaizumi to whatever shop he finds interesting, like that particularly large Lawson on one corner, and that one furniture store with pastel ovens and Bohemian ceiling lamps.

By the time they reach Shibuya’s infamous pedestrian crossing – but not after stopping over a pizza restaurant, a noodle joint, and several other shops – a spectacle of light and sound overwhelms their senses. It’s a starburst of footsteps and conversations and bright neon signs, illuminating the supposedly dark night with shades of purple and vibrant stories to tell.

It’s when Oikawa’s failing stamina takes a toll on him that he feels the balls of his feet give in. His head spins alarmingly fast for one second, then it’s gone. His consciousness almost slipped – _almost_ – if it weren’t for the worried voice that barked him awake.

“Sit down for a minute,” Oikawa hears beside him, then he feels a strong hand hooking his elbow, guiding him to a bench on one side of the crowded plaza, just beside Hachiko’s statue. He blearily looks up at Hajime who’s opening a can of not-so-cold soda, then a bag of potato rings they had bought earlier in Maruetsu. He hands it to Oikawa.

The cold edge of the can cools his bottom lip, and he feels his vision clearing up.

“You alright?” Iwaizumi asks, his hand pressing against his forehead to check his temperature.

Oikawa nods weakly. “Yeah. Probably just the vertigo.”

“We shouldn’t have walked that far,” Hajime says guiltily like it’s his fault.

Oikawa notices the absolute concern radiate from Hajime’s scent despite hundreds of people passing by. It occurs to him how strange it is for him to get tired this easily. If he could play three matches in a row, surely he can endure a five kilometer walk from the Tokyo Tower to Shibuya Station. The potato snack and fizzy drink isn’t quite enough to re-energize him, but it did dampen his slight nausea.

The cracking sound of Oikawa’s chewing is muted out by the fireworks of footsteps and voices. Oikawa lowers his head before throwing in another potato ring, his brows scrunching.

“Sorry,” he mutters quietly, but loud enough for Hajime to hear. “I dragged Iwa-chan out and here I am already tuckered out.”

Iwaizumi stares down at the man, his figure sagging as he shifts in his seat. “I can’t blame you,” he tells him and looks up at the starless sky then at the star-like lights of the tall buildings. “This is a pretty big town.”

The city’s not that far from Oikawa – because just like him, it’s constantly evolving, its edges and prowess the envy of many people.

Iwaizumi remembers his parents asking him, “Why Tokyo?” when he applied for another university. It’s an expensive move, and although his family is quite well-off, his grades aren’t that good, and he didn’t have a particular degree that he wanted that’s only available in the capital.

Then there’s his best friend, scouted by several universities that could get into the national team. And frankly, Iwaizumi can tell – oh, he can very much tell Oikawa was hesitating. He didn’t want to think he was mainly the reason for Oikawa’s reluctance, but he was pretty certain he was included in the list of things that held Oikawa back. He realizes he might’ve encouraged Oikawa to pursue his dreams elsewhere, away from Iwaizumi, away from his hometown, convinced that the distance wouldn’t be a problem and that it’s better off that way. Oikawa needed that push, needed that promise of separation until he’s confident enough to chase his dreams with or without him.

It’s too bad Iwaizumi wasn’t as confident.

“Iwa-chan, look.” Iwaizumi steers his vision to Oikawa, who had broken his abysmal thoughts one too many times. He’s holding up an open palm with potato rings around the base of each finger. “Don’t you think these Poteco rings are bigger than usual?”

Iwaizumi pauses, silently staring at how Oikawa would bite and slide each ring from his fingers like a child. It’s a random question, and normally he’d just respond with a glare or a frown, call him a dumbass or some other insult. But he takes his time and stares at Oikawa’s hands, until a lightning of realization shoots up from his thoughts. He grabs the bag of chips from Oikawa.

He dips his hand to bring up perfectly-sized potato ring from the packet.

“Oikawa Tooru,” Iwaizumi begins quietly.

“Y-Yes?” Oikawa stutters. He studies Hajime, surprised with hearing his full name coming out from his mouth so suddenly, observing the simplicity in his features. He finds it hard to read him amongst the city’s clamor.

Three or four people stare as Iwaizumi crouches down, so he can be at the same level as a sitting Oikawa. He presents him an oddly shaped potato ring, big enough to fit Oikawa’s fingers.

“Will you be the Major Tom to my Ground Control?”

Confusion captures his tongue, leaving Oikawa speechless and moon-eyed. He glances down at Hajime and the piece of snack he’s holding, disoriented and suspicious and touched all at the same time. His heart warms into a gradually fast heartbeat as he responds by laughing softly against the cold air.

“Iwa-chan, please don’t tell me you’re proposing here in front of a statue of a dead dog using Poteco rings and references I don’t get.”

“I am,” Iwaizumi shamelessly admits, lips twisting to stop an amused smile before his brows raised. “And how can you _not_ get that reference?”

Oikawa honestly can’t tell if Hajime is being serious. He plays along, tilting his head and resting his chin on one hand, elbow on his knee. “Well, do I have to answer now? I’m not exactly ready for this kind of commitment!”

Iwaizumi only shrugs, his expression changing drastically when his mouth coils into a stupidly smug smirk. “No, but I know what you’ll say anyway.” Oikawa’s hand is cold compared to his own when he slides the potato ring covered in curry powder in his ring finger. “I want to be the one to bring you up in space. I want you to be the human host of a xenomorph queen so you can be the supreme ruler of an extraterrestrial endoparasitoid alien species.”

This time, Oikawa can’t help but let out a loud, hardy laugh, and Iwaizumi thinks it’s sickeningly beautiful. _This idiot probably thinks all of this is a joke._ Iwaizumi relaxes a little at the sound of his laughter. He sucks in a breath when Oikawa slowly quiets down.

“I must say, I think that’s probably the most romantic thing you’ve ever said to me,” Oikawa says with a soft chuckle, not wanting to pull his hands away. He stares at the imperfect ring made out of factory potatoes and artificial curry flavor, not exactly knowing why there are tears coming out from the corner of his eyes.

Without delay, he takes Hajime’s cheeks into his hands, and with a shaky breath, presses a kiss to his forehead. Hajime closes his eyes when he feels his lips, feeling the rough texture of Oikawa’s make-do engagement ring against his cheek.

“So, yes, Iwaizumi Hajime. Please be the Ground Control to my Major Tom.”

It’s one of those times when Iwaizumi can’t stop the urge to smile. And so he hides it – hides his happiness by titling his head and surging forward, his lips parting against Oikawa’s curving mouth. It’s soft, as always, and he bends upward from his squatting position to deepen the kiss as he literally grabs Oikawa’s head with both hands to pull him closer.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs against the inch of space. He starts to feel dizzy when Iwaizumi lets him breathe.

“Ugh, hey – mmgh – what are you—doing,” Iwaizumi groans as Oikawa stretches his angry face with his hands, smooshing his cheeks like he’s kneading dough.

“You never learn, do you?” Oikawa says within the city’s buzzing in the background. He pouts when Hajime grabs both of his wrists so he can stop squeezing his face, his expression sour. “We’re in public.”

“No one’s looking,” Hajime tells him simply, not even bothering to look around.

Oikawa grins cheekily. “How are you so sure?”

“Very sure.”

To prove his point, Iwaizumi hauls Oikawa’s wrist closer to playfully nibble his fingers until his teeth can bite onto the potato ring still circled around one finger. He cracks it with his teeth, then he licks the ring finger clean from crumbs and artificial spices.

“That was a 24 karat ring, you jerk,” Oikawa murmurs, releasing a warm breath when he giggles. “You’re gonna have to replace that.”

Iwaizumi swallows before looking at Oikawa’s moonlit eyes.

“I plan to.”

In the darkest night, in the midst of thousands of people ebbing and flowing, in the company of digital billboards and the razzle-dazzle of the metropolis, Oikawa is all he can see, and all he ever wants to see, and Iwaizumi knows that even within a crowd of millions, he’ll only have eyes for him.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

A heavy stream of people flows out when the train stopped by the platform, proving that the night is still young as both tourists and locals alike hurry out to the city. Oikawa makes sure he is out of the way, until he is pulled by Hajime to hop inside the cramped subway train.

It’s a little past nine-thirty when Oikawa feels his chest constricting. “Iwa-chan, it’s hard to breathe,” he murmurs against his face mask, closing his eyes.

Beads of sweat begin to form on Oikawa’s temples, which Iwaizumi finds strange. It’s not that warm inside, and it's less than ten degrees outside. “Might be easier without this,” Iwaizumi says, pulling the aforementioned mask down. With it out of the way, he sees Oikawa’s face completely flushed, ears and cheeks blooming red, his half-open eyelids shiny with sweat. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen, a streak of concern welling up.

“Oikawa?” he asks with growing worry.

They’re pressed against each other, unmoving, the thick crowd around them forcing them to stay in their place. Oikawa’s breathing through his mouth when he rests his forehead on Hajime’s shoulder, hands gripping tightly on his sleeves.

“Iwa-chan, I think I’m… I might be…”

In an attempt to figure out what’s wrong, Oikawa’s scent suddenly saturates Iwaizumi’s senses - and he outright _panicks,_ because Oikawa is starting to smell a little too sweet, and he had spent too many days with him to know that this isn’t his normal scent.

Iwaizumi swallows down the knot of dread blocking his throat, Oikawa’s scent alone crossing out one possible suspicion.

“I think I’m in heat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess what im gonna add another chapter ;)  
> this chap's a little boring  
> but enjoy the cheese
> 
> playlist for today: [x](https://open.spotify.com/user/22fcvi6th7yrl2odhh6hrhcfi/playlist/3tz0ORBJA4pYdmtABSmUSv) / [x](https://open.spotify.com/user/22fcvi6th7yrl2odhh6hrhcfi/playlist/2j95mP4IdVVAkS5kobpi2t)
> 
> will edit typos later  
> holla at yo boy here: [twitter](https://twitter.com/dahliadenoire) or [tumblr](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/)


	5. Youth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part V — [YOUTH by Troye Sivan](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XYAghEq5Lfw)

_“I think I’m in heat.”_

Iwaizumi's eyes widen in urgency as soon as Oikawa says this. He stays close, tugging the omega back up when he fails to carry his own weight, protectively pulling him away from the current whenever the train doors would open, so the passengers could go in and out without having to bump into Oikawa.

It grows worse when they had to change train lines. Oikawa can barely walk, his knees buckling, consciousness lapsing between every step. Iwaizumi puts all of his strength into keeping him on his feet by holding him up by the waist, giving him that burst of stability. He clicks his tongue and checks the area. The crowds are beginning to build up again, and Iwaizumi knows that they have to move to the next train as soon as possible.

Oikawa takes a deep, ragged breath.

The inside of his head pounds like drums as he wheezes in the cold air. It mixes in with the crowd's putrid trail, the stomach acid threatening to rise up to his throat. Oikawa staggers to a bench next to the vending machines, thankful Hajime is strong enough to keep him from face-planting onto the ground. The alpha grips him with an arm around his waistline, acting as Oikawa's crutches until he gets to sit down.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi worriedly bites down the insides of his cheeks. He kneels down to his level, hands reaching up to the young man's flushed face. “Do you have suppressants with you?” he asks him, voice almost demanding. Oikawa weakly shakes his head no. “What were those pills you bought earlier? Aren’t those suppressing tabs?”

Oikawa doesn’t reply. He wordlessly glances straight to Hajime's frantic green eyes, and somehow all he can think about in this situation is how Hajime smells like his favorite aftershave and sandalwood, simply wanting to just take in his scent and drown in it. A pain surges down below all of a sudden. He clutches his stomach, head shaking stubbornly.

“I want... I want to go home,” he breathes out in strained huffs, eyes closed tight.

Iwaizumi pushes Oikawa’s hair back a bit, his reddening face smeared with sweat and a beguiling expression. With his instincts slowly eating at him, Iwaizumi can’t help but think he’s still beautiful like that - eyes dazed and heavy, parted lips breathing out short warm huffs. The screeching sound of the arriving train snaps him from his improper thoughts, the noise drawing Oikawa’s attention as well. Iwaizumi quickly leads themselves in as soon as the train doors open.

Oikawa’s scent may not be nowhere near its full potency, and it’s still going to take several minutes before his pheromones go out of control, but it’s taking all of Iwaizumi’s self-control to keep himself awake and mindful. The air-conditioning inside the train didn’t help in containing Oikawa's growing fragrance, as Iwaizumi finds the omega’s scent turning more mature each second.

“Hang in there,” Oikawa hears the other whisper. "Hold on to me."

Oikawa becomes more aware of the sounds of the subway, the clamor of the rails and the people’s unsettling silence causing his heart to beat faster. He blinks his brown eyes into focus, taking in Iwaizumi’s obvious panic. There’s a glint of worry in his emerald eyes, the overhead fluorescents making sure to light them up for Oikawa to see.

“Iwa-chan…” he murmurs hazily, bumping his forehead against his. The warmth coursing through his body worsens and his grip on Hajime’s clothes tighten, taking in a deep breathe to drown himself in his alpha's scent. It’s not an easy feat, not when there’s a hundred different scents in the air that didn’t help soothe his heat at all.

Then there’s an uncomfortable itch under his skin. Oikawa can tell his vision is starting to fail, growing more and more sensitive to light. His incoming heat clouds over him. Thoughts of Hajime finally being _his_ fogs his mind, making his heart pump blood faster than it already is. Oikawa anxiously wonders when they’ll get off this stupid train, because he keeps asking himself when his heat would actually _start_ – and quite frankly, he just wants Hajime to have his way with him _._ The heaviness he feels next is more troublesome than unbearable, and Oikawa isn’t quite sure when the burst of arousal would begin.

“Stay still, take a deep breath,” Iwaizumi instructs. He whispers words that are starting to sound more muddled as the seconds go by. His jacket comes off first, then his zip-up hoodie, hearing the rough shifting of the fabric as he drapes them over Oikawa’s back.

The touch of his hands prickles across Oikawa’s skin, hypersensitive when the fabric brushes him.

Iwaizumi’s trying not to worry - not to panic - he really is, because he doesn’t want Oikawa to absorb his anxiety, and if his scent and presence are the only things that can soothe Oikawa right now, he’s going to have to bear with it and forcefully channel a positive energy.

“What are you doing?” Oikawa asks weakly and lifts his head up, questioning Hajime’s layers of clothing covering his shoulders. His lids are heavy when he sees that Hajime’s only wearing a thin shirt now. “It’s so cold, you’ll freeze out there.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Iwaizumi tells him, running a hand through his damp hair before gently pushing his head back down to rest on his shoulder. He feels Oikawa’s nails dig into his skin now that there are less layers on him. “Your scent’s starting to go haywire.”

He hopes his jackets are able to block out Oikawa’s scent, at least until they reach their stop. Oikawa keeps murmuring his name, which isn’t doing much good to Iwaizumi’s self-restraint. He huffs and holds him closer anyway. Among the array of aromas, Iwaizumi decides to discreetly scent mark him. He presses himself to Oikawa, brushing his nose against his hair, his lips under his chin, his cheeks over his, going as far as to lick the skin on his neck, behind his ears, hoping it would suppress the scent glands there.

“Dude, you smell that?”

“Huh? Smell what?”

“Smells like someone in heat.”

Oikawa flinches, hands starting to shake in fear and worry. Iwaizumi notices it immediately, firm hands pushing down the other’s head to the crook of his neck.

“They won’t do anything,” Iwaizumi assures him. He can hear Oikawa’s heartbeat - quick and uneven. His eyes travel within the crowded space until he spots the young men who had noticed the strange scent. They’re in public, surely no alpha in their right mind would do something awful at a place like this. “They don’t know it’s you,” he adds.

"Iwa-chan..." he lets out a breathless whimper.

Oikawa isn’t exactly the most stereotypical omega around, and with these many people, no one would be able to tell. That doesn’t seem to calm Oikawa down. He cradles him closer. “I’m right here.”

They stand and sway inside the train silently for what seemed like eternity as Oikawa continues to hide his face against Hajime’s neck, wrapping his arms around the alpha’s waist. He feels like an empty jar waiting to be filled.

After a minute, Iwaizumi feels Oikawa relaxing as he draws in a deep breath. Iwaizumi bends a little to kiss the side of his head, whispering gentle words of assurance against his hair.

“We’re almost there. One station more.”

Iwaizumi quickly steers Oikawa out of the train as soon as they reach their stop. The stairs that lead up to the exit is long and steep, and Iwaizumi had to literally drag him up. With one big sigh of relief, they arrive at their familiar neighborhood in Korakuen, quiet and cold as always. The rest of the city flies by slowly as it eventually waters down into a modest residential area lined with low-rise apartments and humble houses.

It’s during this crucial moment in his life when Iwaizumi downright regrets keeping his apartment keys deep inside the pockets of his backpack.

“H-Hurry up,” Oikawa says, nearly out of breath, before he smashes his mouth against Hajime in a bruising kiss. He mounts on top of the alpha, who’s sitting on floor, back against their locked apartment door looking for his keys.

The normal thing to do is to tell Oikawa to fucking calm down for a minute. Because they’re in the hallway, and someone might hear them (or smell them). It’s late in the night, and Iwaizumi hopes no one is awake because quite honestly, he isn’t sure how long he can last and give in to Oikawa’s encouraging kisses. All he knows is that they need to get inside real quick before he loses his fucking mind.

Iwaizumi forces himself to withdraw from the intoxicating mixture of Oikawa’s heat and touches, fumbling over to reach into the bottom of his backpack. It might’ve been easier to look for those damn keys if Oikawa isn’t so impatiently biting and sucking a trail on his neck.

“Fuck this,” he curses, literally throwing the contents of his backpack on the hallway floor; restless hands shuffling through the instant curry boxes they had bought, textbooks, and an empty bottle of Pocari Sweat until he finds what he’s looking for.

He growls angrily and misses the keyhole on the first and second attempt, because Iwaizumi winds up slamming Oikawa onto the door instead. Iwaizumi feels the need to apologize, only deciding against it when he notices that Oikawa doesn’t mind at least one bit, too immersed with the his warm lips and a hand grazing against him.

The minute the door opens, Iwaizumi pushes him in with the same force as his kisses, kicking in his belongings sprawled on the floor before slamming the door behind him. Iwaizumi kisses Oikawa harder, holding him so he can’t get away - not that Oikawa wants to, as he reciprocates with the same amount of want.

“Iwa—” Oikawa gasps against the other’s lips, clutching at his neck when he falls backwards, his feet stumbling at the elevated floor on the entryway.

Oikawa lays his head back against the wood and meets dark green eyes, Hajime’s hands on either side of his head, trapping him. The alpha doesn’t waste a second and leans down impatiently. His kiss warms him up just right, a thick thread of desire chasing away the winter chill as Oikawa tries to take his coats off, which he finds awfully difficult to do, the layers and layers of coats and jackets sticking stubbornly to each other. The fabric gets stuck on their way down his shoulders, and Oikawa just gives up, curling his arm around Hajime’s neck instead, falling into the kiss like he’s diving off from a waterfall.

He had never smelled Hajime like this, as his heat flares up in an achingly terrible burst of arousal, Oikawa just _drowns_ in him, his body seemingly losing all its bones as he lets Hajime maneuver his body. There’s a rough hand slipping beneath his undershirt, inadvertently lifting the fabric up. Oikawa grinds against the surface of the other’s palm, desperate for more than just skin-to-skin contact.

Despite the cold, Hajime’s hands are so, so warm against his frosting shivery skin.

“I-Iwa-chan, you need to—” Oikawa whines under his open-mouthed kisses, writhing against his body. The words can’t come out right, his heat blocking his ability to talk in coherent sentences.

Iwaizumi discovers a new kind of flavor when he nips and licks on Oikawa’s skin. Oikawa had never tasted this sweet, he thinks dazedly. He grows strangely unconcerned where he leaves the marks, unconsciously overwrought on the thought of everyone seeing how thoroughly he had claimed Oikawa.

“Oikawa, do I...” Iwaizumi breathlessly trails off, squeezing the other’s hips. He takes Oikawa’s legs wrapping around his waist as permission to continue, dragging his hand along the denim surface of his tight, midnight black jeans. He fumbles at the button, just as he kisses Oikawa hungrily beneath him.

As a response, Oikawa goes and desperately reaches out to get rid of the single article of clothing that is keeping him from touching Hajime’s raw and heated skin. He lets his fingers slide along the taut muscle in pure indulgence until Iwaizumi finally tosses his shirt aside. It feels strange. The upper part of his body is still wrapped up in a blanket of coats, but the aching emptiness he feels down below is making him forget all about it. He ends up gasping at the sudden cold feeling on his chest, cracking one eye open to peek at Hajime who’s closing his lips on the hard nub of his nipple in a way that makes Oikawa arch his back and pull on Hajime’s hair.

“S-Stop—it feels weird—” Oikawa manages to say in the seam of stifled moans and heavy exhales. _Everything_ feels weird. His heart is pounding, and Hajime is so close to it he can probably hear the unsteady beat of anticipation and anxiety.

Hearing him catch his breath, Iwaizumi halts just as Oikawa had asked him to. He shifts his weight over him so he can kiss the side of his jaw, close enough for a whispered apology. He presses a trail of wet kisses on neck before opening his mouth to speak.

“Oikawa, are you—are you sure about this?”

Hajime’s question clouds his thoughts, as his heat only screams for nothing but his embrace. He lets out a questioning whine, because he’s getting impatient, rubbing his body against Hajime’s. He pulls him down for another melting kiss. He wants it. He wants everything.

“Fuck, do it, just— _fuck—_ I can’t wait anymore—” Oikawa gasps into a stop when he feels a wave of slickness rushing from inside him. He throws himself back and covers his eyes with him arm, face ridiculously red with embarrassment. It’s hard to think at that point. He’s too delirious to stop himself from begging. “Iwa-chan, fuck – do it already—!”

Iwaizumi more than just aroused now, but as much as he wants to fuck him and fill him up over and over again, a tide of rationality flows in his red haze of a rut. Iwaizumi’s head is swimming with all kinds of urges, but he’s not that senseless. Well, not yet.

“Oikawa, I can’t… I can’t do this without—”

“Never mind that! I already took pills…!” Oikawa snaps back impatiently, yanking Hajime’s face down to wetly nip on the side of his mouth.

“You mean... suppressants?”

“The _other_ kind of pill. It’s…” Oikawa trails off and groans in anguish, covering his flushed face with both arms now. His words dissolve into pleading mewls. “Iwa-chan, please, don’t worry about me, just—”

The moment he realizes what Oikawa had meant, Hajime’s hesitation lessens. His vision almost blurs when he opens his eyes. Does he need to write a fucking invitation so Hajime can just get on with it?

Leaning forward slightly, he rests his lips on the man’s cheek and angrily tugs Iwaizumi’s pants down. “I-I know you’re trying to be careful, but…” Oikawa pauses, pulling at Hajime’s hips with his legs around him until it fits right in, until Hajime gets the idea. “Iwa-chan, _shit_ , I want—just fuck me, _fuck—”_

“Why are you so...” Iwaizumi couldn’t continue, his words falling as he feels the full onset of his rut. Where did that shy Oikawa who couldn’t even give him a simple goodbye kiss go? He growls almost threateningly over Oikawa, trying his best not to intimidate the other into submission, afraid Oikawa might take it the wrong way.

He doesn’t though, grabbing Hajime’s face with his hands, kissing him square on the mouth.

Iwaizumi bites the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, taking advantage of his open-mouthed gasps and whispers. Oikawa gives him freedom – lets the alpha messily dip into his mouth, lets his scent sink into his skin.

With a low growl, Iwaizumi rushes in.

“Oh god, _fuck,_ I-Iwa-cha—” Oikawa lets out an airtight groan as Hajime sinks into him. He cries at the sudden burst of _pain_. It doesn’t twist into pleasure right away like he had expected. He completely lost his ability to breathe, his stomach clenching when Hajime thrusts himself in for the first time. He’s all the way inside, full and raw and thick, each erratic thrust drawing out a dry, pained moan from his throat. Oikawa throws his head back, trying to exhale the air stuck in his throat.

The omega’s hands shake as he grabs onto Hajime’s neck, one hand digging into his back as he lets Hajime in along with frantic, incoherent whimpers. He feels Hajime pressing his weight down on the cold hard floor, hiding his face in Oikawa’s neck. Oikawa thinks he might’ve already lost it, by the way he’s thrusting into him so impatiently.

“You feel so—holy shit, Tooru—” Iwaizumi manages to breathe against Oikawa’s trembling lips, his hips snapping, causing Oikawa's legs to tremble from each side of the alpha. Restraint soon thaws into graceless strokes. He hates himself for losing his mind, a growl escaping from his throat as he soaks in the tightness, the heady enticing scent of Oikawa fogging his thoughts. He leaves Oikawa’s lips for a minute, panting his name and burying his face against the crook of his neck. The frustration and strong arousal causes his reason to abandon him, the sentiments of being an alpha overpowering with what’s left in his brain. Oikawa shivers and sobs, gasping until his breath completely abandons him.

That’s when Oikawa learns Hajime’s most primitive state, where every movement relies pretty much on instinct, is too much for him.

“W-Wait—Don’t—!” Oikawa chokes out, but Hajime is too worked up. The pain down below isn’t going away, and he loses half of his hardness.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening. His body is designed to handle this kind of intrusion, and he can even feel the slick leaking out like a fucking faucet. It’s so strange – because it’s so _painful_ , his mind and body reacting contrarily. It’s almost like being broiled under an intense fire and liking it.

It just  _hurts_ , and Oikawa needs him to stop or he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Iwa-chan—pull it out! I can’t – _shit_ , it’s too—” He cries out, a generous amount of tears forming in his closed eyes. He shakes his head violently, his gasps turn into painful whimpers. Oikawa tries to endure it, because it’s what his body supposedly wants, what his mind had been telling him to quench. But his entrance literally feels like it’s on fire and the discomfort isn’t going away at all. “Stop, Hajime, stop, it hurts—!”

Iwaizumi vaults back to reality and finally realizes what’s happening. “Oh _fuck_ , Oikawa, shit, I’m sorry, _shit, shit—_ ” he keeps chanting curses. His body freezes. He tries to get out of him, only to find out that it’s more of a trial than he had originally thought.

Iwaizumi leans back a little to stare at Oikawa’s face, wet with tears and sweat, brows furrowed in pain. The sight feels like a punch in the gut and he wants to fucking stab himself because he made him cry, and he’s _hurting_ him. He had always been weak to his tears. Iwaizumi kisses him and whispers another apology against his damp cheek as he slows his pace, or at least try to, since his body isn’t allowing him to completely _stop_.

He grits his teeth, voice in a nervous whisper. “I… I can’t—I can’t pull out.”

“W-What?” Oikawa breathes out in a small voice. He chuffs nervously. “What do you mean you can’t?”

Iwaizumi curses under his breath, his face a dark shade of red. “I think… I-I knotted.”

Oikawa’s expression twists dreadfully. “Hajime,” he says in growing panic. “Are you serious right now?”

He really can’t answer that, the cool draft huffing over his sweaty skin. “Sorry – I didn’t—” He stops and sees the man beneath his squeeze his eyes shut, folded arms covering his face.

“You could’ve warned me!”

“I don’t know! It just happened!”

“How could you _not_ know? You control that damn thing!”

“I said I don’t know! We never had sex before!"

Oikawa lets out a low choked sound. “This is so fucking embarrassing. Iwa-chan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I’m really sorry. This was a mistake.” He sniffs and cries, eyes beginning to swell and redden. “I suck at this,” Oikawa whines in delicate sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“What? Don’t be,” Iwaizumi tells him quick, his voice the softest he can muster. He’s not the one who should be saying sorry. Oikawa’s not the idiot stuck inside his fucking ass. With a low growl, Iwaizumi grabs his arms and forces Oikawa’s hands around the alpha’s neck for leverage. He feels Oikawa tighten from the inside, bracing himself. Pulling out from a knot is probably the worst pain Oikawa will feel in his entire life if he does try, and Oikawa himself knows that. He sighs sweet apologies to his ear, kissing the side of his temples shining with sweat as he rubs back and forth – agonizingly slowly. “I’m sorry, Tooru, I’m—It’ll be over soon.”

His throat pulses as Hajime shifts and slides into him miserably. Oikawa gasps at the strong feeling inside him, his muscles bracing as he holds onto Hajime, leaving no space between their bodies. The pain had lessened, but it’s still there. The alpha pushes into him a little less roughly this time, Hajime kissing his pursed lips to remind Oikawa that he’s there, and that he’s sorry, and that the pain will be gone in a minute.

Every inch of him feels so tight and it renders him breathless. Oikawa pushes his head back against the floor, arching up, his body tightening. Almost at the same second, Hajime gives him one last push, hissing as he comes inside him. His movement gradually slows into a stop, emptying himself inside Oikawa until he finds himself able to draw himself out.

Within a second, Iwaizumi loses his balance, falling to his elbows. He makes sure he doesn’t collapse on Oikawa, then kisses him without saying a word.

“I-Iwa-chan… Iwa—Hajime…” Oikawa pants, instinctively calling out all alterations of his name like a broken record. He feels Hajime’s hand on his cheek, the other hand pushing back his fringes, followed by a tender kiss on the forehead.

“I’m here,” Iwaizumi whispers hoarsely, cradling him in his arms. He draws back and pulls his pants up, just enough to hang loosely on his hips. Kneeling in front of Oikawa, he sweeps a thumb over his tear-stained cheeks. “I’m really sorry, Oikawa.” The tired man only nods once, humming in reply. “Come on, sit up,” he tells him next. The floor doesn't seem like comfortable place to rest.

The other follows him in mindless obedience. His body is heavy when Hajime lifts him by the back, the gentle pull lulling him into the alpha’s embrace.

They sit on the floor for a while, a breathless Oikawa laying against Iwaizumi, letting his body recover from the shock, his heat subdued. He allows Hajime to move him around, aware that he can’t move by himself. It feels nice to curl up in Hajime’s arms. A hand clamps tight onto the jackets Oikawa is still wearing, tugging them back up to warm the omega’s shoulders, to cover his neck dotted with red marks. Oikawa indulges himself on Hajime’s warmth and the comfort of the coat hugging his torso. It’s the only piece of clothing he has on, so he curls his toes when the draft nips on his exposed legs.

“Iwa-chan, water,” Oikawa murmurs lazily, nestling closer.

Better educated than the last time, Iwaizumi mutters a small “sure”, letting Oikawa rest his back on the wall for one quick second before he urgently runs to the kitchen to get a bottle of water. The apartment is all too quiet when he comes back, and Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa might’ve fallen asleep.

He hasn’t yet though, and Iwaizumi combs his messy brown hair back with his fingers. “Wanna take a bath?” he asks him.

Oikawa gulps down and empties the water bottle before sleepily throwing himself at Iwaizumi, arms choking him by the neck. Iwaizumi wonders if he should consider that as a ‘yes’. Then he presses a kiss on his blushing cheekbones, and carries him to the bath.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“That was terrible,” Oikawa says as he brushes his teeth, body stretched out in the tub.

The water is delightfully heated at the most perfect temperature, the liquid soap painting it a nice lilac color. The heat haze that had been stirring inside his body is completely gone now, so his senses are back to normal – until the next wave hits that is. He breathes out a tired laugh and drinks in the sight of Iwaizumi brushing his teeth, wearing only a pair of sweatpants.

Oikawa attempts to call his name with his mouth full of foam. Hajime turns, holding out a paper cup so Oikawa can spit into it. He hands him his toothbrush and wipes his mouth before repeating, “Just terrible.”

Iwaizumi glances at him doubtfully before looking back at his own reflection on the mirror. He spits out the toothpaste foam before speaking. “Couldn’t agree more.”

The water splashes loudly when Oikawa shifts, wrapping his arms around his knees. He rests the side of his head on his arms, tilting slightly so he could look at Hajime. “Maybe we should try again. Get it to work this time?” he chimes in with a slight melody between the words.

Iwaizumi scoffs and sits on the edge of tub. He pinches the bridge Oikawa’s nose hard, earning a series of whines from the omega. “You’re so cocky for someone who cried the entire time.”

“You knotted!” he snaps back, voice nasal because of Hajime’s grip on his nose. “And during our first time too!”

His nose is freed, and he groans while trying to nurse it. He’s expecting an angry comeback when he looks up at Hajime, or an insult, but it didn't come. Instead, he sees Hajime taking a deep breath, guilt twisting his features.

“I’m sorry,” Hajime says again for the hundredth time for the last fifty fucking minutes.

Oikawa’s heart clenches, creasing his eyebrows angrily at Hajime. If anything, he’s the one at fault – because was impatient, because he resisted against his body’s needs. Oikawa stares up at Hajime, noticing the slightest flux of his back muscles, wishing he could see his eyes. He lifts a hand from beneath the water, and touches Hajime’s arm.

“I told you before,” Oikawa starts, his voice low. “My heats aren’t the most cooperative, and I’m not good at – well, I’m not good at this whole... omega thing yet.” He clears his throat, clears his mind, wondering if Hajime can actually tell how happy he is. “I put you in a tight situation. I know you won’t be able to say no,” Oikawa says, imitating what Hajime had said before, after stupidly apologizing for confessing.

That’s when Iwaizumi turns to him, only to be greeted by a contented smile.

“So now we’re even,” Oikawa says tenderly. Noticing Hajime’s body language softening, he laughs, his voice bouncing off the walls wildly. “I knew I’d fuck it up one way or another.” Hajime takes a deep breath and opens his mouth to say something, but Oikawa cuts him off immediately. “And don’t you dare tell me it’s not my fault. We’re not playing this blaming game again.”

“But it’s not,” Iwaizumi says simply, twisting his torso slightly to face Oikawa. He smiles softly and ruefully, and pushes back the long strands of hair sticking on Oikawa’s forehead. “You know I’m usually more restrained.”

His eyelids become heavy when he feels Hajime’s relaxing, apologetic touch. “Hm, I’ll take that as a compliment,” Oikawa says with a smile that’s just as gentle. He searches Hajime’s face, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. There are furrows on his brows again, wrinkling in repentance. Oikawa notes his vulnerable vibe, so he grabs Hajime’s hand with both of his and tips his head to the side to nestle his cheek against the other’s warm palm.

“Can’t you tell I’m happy?” Oikawa confesses, blushing, finding it hard to breathe suddenly. “I’m so happy I feel like there’s a Chestburster coming out of my body!”

Iwaizumi blinks back in surprise, then cringes when he imagines an alien embryo gestating inside Oikawa’s chest. “That’s disgusting,” he mutters with a small chuckle, bending down from the edge of the tub to press his lips on top of Oikawa’s head. There’s still shampoo lathering on his scalp, and the sweet watermelon scent tickles his nose. “I guess I’m happy, too,” Iwaizumi says finally.

Even though his face doesn’t quite say ‘happy’, Oikawa can see it in his eyes.

“Happy? You look like a sad block of Martian sandstone." Oikawa laughs, legitimately wondering how he can cheer up arenite. He cups Hajime’s face. “I'm telling you I'm fine. It was my fault, okay? So stop looking at me like that."

“Like what?” Iwaizumi asks with difficulty, Oikawa squeezing his cheeks together.

“Like you regret it.”

“I don’t regret it.”

“I can feel your guilt – or smell it even.” Oikawa meets his green eyes firmly. Hajime doesn’t say anything after. “Iwa-chan, come on, hey,” Oikawa murmurs. His lashes flutter up when he looks at Hajime, arms climbing up to circle around his neck. He lifts his chin and is about to press his lips against the alpha’s parted ones, but instead, he pulls him roughly by the neck until Hajime loses his balance and falls into the boiling water.

“Oikawa, you fucking ba—!” Iwaizumi growls as he awkwardly shifts inside the small tub. He sees Oikawa bringing his knees up to his chest, laughing fondly, head tilted adorably. The sweatpants he still wore grew heavy, absorbing the bathwater. He glares at his wet clothes and then glares at Oikawa, who flinches when he sees his scowling face, water dripping down and flattening his spikes a little. “I’m going to murder you.”

“What? Might as well take a bath now, right?” Oikawa manages to tease between huffs and laughs. He shifts and grabs both Hajime’s wrists from beneath the water, and uses them as a lever so he can pull himself closer to the other side, so he can rest between Hajime’s legs and curl against his chest.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, the gesture defuses Iwaizumi’s rising anger, and he sighs loudly when Oikawa literally thrashes the water until he finally settles in one position.

The bathroom falls silent, suffused only by the dripping faucet and their breathing. Oikawa reclines, his breath visible when he exhales, relaxing against Iwaizumi like he had always belonged there. He does though, Iwaizumi thinks. They had always fit together perfectly like a lock and key. Without realizing it, Iwaizumi traces a hand over Oikawa’s shoulder.

 _His skin is so soft_. Iwaizumi leans down to scent him, brushing nose and lips against the milky surface, spotted with pink spots and teeth marks. He hears Oikawa’s questioning giggles, his body squaring at the tickling touch. Oikawa still smells like heat. His pulse flutters at his fragrance, beautifully mixing in with the body gels and soap. Iwaizumi kisses the back of his neck, adding in more color to Oikawa’s pale complexion.

“I think I may have accidentally imprinted on you,” Oikawa says out of the blue. He feels dizzy in Hajime’s arms, and if he didn’t talk, he’s afraid he might fall asleep on the spot.

Iwaizumi lifts his lips from the other’s skin. “Just now?”

Oikawa shakes his head. “Long before,” he starts, voice small. “Way before I even presented.” He takes Hajime’s hand out of habit, just because he can, tracing a thumb against the creases in his palm. “Ever since my showing, every alpha smelled like dead bodies! And sometimes they smell nothing at all. Isn’t that weird?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, letting Oikawa knead his hands. He thinks he might be nervous. Oikawa would always do that with his own hands whenever he feels uneasy. So Iwaizumi simply lets him brush his soft fingertips over the lines in his darker, calloused skin, if that makes him feel better.

“Except you, Iwa-chan.” His fingers slows and stops over Hajime’s palm. Then he laughs. “I’d still think your scent is nice even if you don’t shower for a week,” Oikawa half-jokes, keeping his eyes down on his hand and Hajime’s. “It’s just so comforting. Somehow, your scent soothes my – I don’t know, but it helps with my heats sometimes, gets rid of my headaches.” He sucks in a quiet breath and sinks deeper into the water, sliding down on Hajime’s chest. “I guess it’s always been you.” He purses his lips. “I thought, while other alphas are going into mindless ruts… I just keep thinking ‘Iwa-chan is so cool’. He’s not affected at all! I thought it might be because you grew immune to it, because we've been together for a long time, or something like that, then I realize maybe—maybe, Iwa-chan thinks my scent is horrible? Well, is it? That’s how other alphas smell to me, so I figured maybe my scent is disgusting to you. That’s why I don’t hide it around the house, to annoy you and stuff.”

It’s quiet for a short moment, and Oikawa isn’t sure how Hajime would react.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Oikawa’s eyes open wide. He feels the flesh behind him vibrate when Hajime groans angrily.

“Do you know how many goddamn times I’ve entered a rut because of you?”

“W-What?” Oikawa chokes out. “You—Because of me?”

Iwaizumi scratches his head and growls in frustration. If Oikawa had the courage to say all those things, he should be able to confess an embarrassing thing or two.

“You really think I run to the toilet to shit three times a day?”

“Wait, you mean you don’t?” Oikawa says, craning his head back over Hajime’s shoulder to get a glimpse of that blush smudging his cheeks. “I just thought you had really fucked up bowels.”

“You know what I mean, you little shit.”

Oikawa snorts to hold back a laugh, tilting back a bit to kiss him lightly on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Yeah, right.” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and scoffs in disbelief. “I bet you’re dying to tell everyone that you drive me fucking crazy.”

After that, Oikawa grows silent, and for some reason that makes Iwaizumi nervous. He stares down at Oikawa’s hands, still holding one of his.

Oikawa twists his body around so he’s facing Hajime this time. His eyes give out a beam of determination before bringing his face close to Hajime’s.

“Iwa-chan, let’s do it again.”

Iwaizumi’s lips part, eyes wide in shock.

“You’re _insane_.”

Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut and whines, “But I really, really want to fuck you right now—”

Iwaizumi shakes his head in disbelief. He narrows his eyes at him. “You can barely stand.”

“I-I’m fine now!” Oikawa almost yells in desperation. “I promise I won’t ask you to stick it in right away! We _both_ know that didn’t work so well the first time.” He lets out a soft laugh before pressing his lips to the underside of Hajime’s jaw, a hand brushing against his thighs still covered by his sweatpants.

Iwaizumi’s heart races. Oikawa’s second wave of heat is starting to seep through him, the effects of his pheromones getting more insufferable by the second. But as much as he wants so very much to push Oikawa down and fuck him in this fucking tub right then and there, his brain wins against his instincts this time, growling in frustration as he funnily pushes Oikawa’s face away with his hand.

“Stop,” he tells him sternly, his face nothing but serious. “You need to rest.”

He puffs his cheeks. Is he really turning down an omega’s invitation? “No, no, Iwa-chan, I told you! I’m fine now!”

With one huge sigh, Iwaizumi holds onto the rim of the tub and raises himself up, splashing water everywhere as he lets his soaked sweatpants drip onto the tiles.

“Finish your bath and let’s go to sleep,” he says as soon as his feet touches the cold tiles, voice firm.

By the time Iwaizumi got out, he immediately put on some dry clothes before his skin completely hardens to ice. His rut retreats once Oikawa and his provocative pheromones are locked inside the bathroom. He sucks in a deep breath and presses a hand to his temples. Oikawa’s instincts are still resisting, and Iwaizumi isn’t really sure why. It might be because he’s actually scared on the inside, even though his body is acting otherwise. Nonetheless, he’s going to make sure he doesn’t hurt Oikawa anymore.

Iwaizumi paces around the room, and he does this to calm his rut down. The thought of hurting Oikawa isn’t a very good image, and he feels the intensity in his groin sizzle down abruptly. He falls on his bed, looking over at the bathroom door before closing his eyes. The chill in the air brushes over his cheek, reddening as he remembers how Oikawa’s voice when he was underneath him, how he smells, how his touch could simply drive him mad—

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa calls just as the bathroom door opens.

It takes half a second for his heat’s fragrance to completely marinate the air – it’s anything but neutral. It’s thick and fertile and awfully sweet. Iwaizumi’s body responds accordingly, feeling every button inside him just _click_. The sound of Oikawa’s footsteps coaxes his eyelids open.

“It’s—It’s starting again,” Oikawa sobs, his voice cracking. “W-What do I do, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi sits up in urgency and sees Oikawa, his flushed face twisted in distress, eyes glassy, hands and arms protectively wrapped around his own body. The bathrobe he had on doesn’t help with the shivers. Iwaizumi didn’t think the next wave would start this soon, but he realizes that he didn’t quite extinguish Oikawa’s heat correctly the first time. At the very sound of Oikawa’s frustrated voice, Iwaizumi’s heart just nose-dived into his fucking stomach.

If there’s anything that makes his heart break into pieces, it’s Oikawa’s tears.

“Come here.” Iwaizumi prowls on the edge of the bed and raises both arms until Oikawa’s shivering body falls into them. He holds him tight at first, forearms pressing onto the omega’s back. At that point, Iwaizumi doesn’t care that Oikawa is still dripping wet, and that he didn’t even dry up with a towel before stepping out of the bath.

“Mhm… Iwa-chan’s really warm,” Oikawa sighs dazedly against him, burying his face deeper onto his neck. He plants a trail of kisses on his skin.

Iwaizumi is far too distracted by Oikawa’s kisses, too distracted with the way his icy lips brush along his jaw. Oikawa seems absolute with what he wants to do, and Iwaizumi thinks he might just fall at the mercy of Oikawa’s whims.

“Are you—Are you sure about this?” Iwaizumi breathes out, planting his warm lips against the other’s neck to scent the other, to hide his own nervousness. Oikawa keeps quiet and responds with heavy breaths, and with that he’s seized with the desire to lean in fully. His nose nudges against the tip of Oikawa’s before tipping his head at the right angle, until their lips are touching, until there’s no space between them.

He’s barely able to hold back, but he keeps telling himself that he should. They’ll go slow this time – no more ripping each other’s clothes off, no haste, no impatience.

Iwaizumi sets his hands lightly at Oikawa’s waist, tugging him into the direction of the bed. He growls and steals another kiss, appreciating the way Oikawa seems to shrink considerately so they can be on the same level. Oikawa locks his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck as he stumbles sideward, wanting nothing more than for him to take the lead. Without warning, Iwaizumi pins him down on the bed, lips still locked.

Oikawa’s eyes are still bright even in the dark, and the way he looks up at Iwaizumi, the way he lies under him, perfectly parallel and defenseless, purees Iwaizumi’s brain into a hazy, intoxicated trance. Cold, shaking hands slides under his shirt, Oikawa’s sharp nails carving crescents into Iwaizumi’s back.

“Why am I the only one naked?” Oikawa whines in-between kisses as his hands soak up the warmth and feel of Hajime’s muscles under his shirt.

Bending back, he raises his arms so Oikawa can pull his shirt off. There’s a hint of detergent floating in the air when the shirt is thrown carelessly to the floor. He dips down slowly again, taking in Oikawa’s scent, his heat.

“Happy now?” Iwaizumi teases as he props his arms on either side of Oikawa’s head.

Oikawa answers by smiling against his lips and tugging on his new pair of sweatpants.

There’s something different about Oikawa’s scent now. It’s not the same fragrance he had emitted when they were on the train, not the same one when they did it right next to their apartment door. His scent isn’t as wild. In fact, Oikawa smells pleasantly _stable_ \- like a perfectly arranged bouquet of flowers, like the lingering aroma of his watermelon shampoo and coconut-scented body lotion.

It’s still tempting, no doubt about it, but this time Iwaizumi doesn’t feel like he’s sinking into the deep waters of mindlessness.

Iwaizumi bends back up to lick the omega’s lips, then his chin, dragging his tongue from the soft skin of neck to his collarbones until he reaches a taut nipple. Oikawa squirms at the touch, getting used to the cold trail that lingers when Iwaizumi moves to whatever patch of skin is within reach. He explores his body – touching him, memorizing the feel of Oikawa’s skin against his hands. With every moment, every brush of his fingertips, Iwaizumi hardens, and his pants tighter.

The soggy bathrobe still hanging precariously along Oikawa’s arms catches his eye. Iwaizumi slides his hand up on his sides and down to his abdomen, nipping at his lips as he did so. Oikawa tenses up and lets out a soft cry when Iwaizumi rubs his own against Oikawa’s, his hand keeping them in place. His grip tightens, and Oikawa grits his teeth as he croaks out the alpha’s name. He lets out whimpering yell, leaking against Iwaizumi’s palm.

Iwaizumi keeps his eyes on him, oddly unsurprised with Oikawa’s hypersensitivity. The man beneath him drags in a breath and extends his arm around his neck. Hungrily, Iwaizumi explores the other’s mouth, wondering if he should move his hand from where they were. He pulls back to look at Oikawa’s face – drunk with a specific need and an insatiable hunger. Iwaizumi rests his forehead against his brow, face just as flushed, breaths just as ragged.

“Tell me if it hurts,” Iwaizumi tells him, his voice serious and quiet. “I’ll stop this time.”

Oikawa whimpers and nods earnestly. “O-Okay, okay…”

Slowly, he pushes a finger in, then another until there are three inside, coiling and stretching him intently and carefully. Iwaizumi knows it isn’t enough for Oikawa’s heat daze, knows Oikawa wants something deeper. His groans grow louder and more indecent as he manages to gasp out whichever word he can muster. “Haji—Hajime…!”

His shoulders shiver with restraint, growling in frustration when he follows the motion of the other’s fingers as an attempt to deepen the stimulation, to suck him in. Oikawa’s gut clenches, his entrance tightening as he moans out his immodesties into Iwaizumi’s mouth. His fingers slip in and out smoothly, slick lapping up from inside, dripping down to the sheets.

“H-Hajime…” Oikawa mewls. “T-That’s enough—”

Iwaizumi cuts off his unfinished plea when he removes his fingers, covering himself with the leftover slick in his hands. He grunts, and takes a firm hold on Oikawa’s hips, sliding a hand round to the front of Oikawa’s thigh then lightly plants a stream of kisses on the soft skin.

“I-Iwa-chan…” Oikawa cries out, sucking in a breath as Iwaizumi keeps teasing him with nips and bites and kisses along his inner thigh. He pushes and thrusts his hips at Iwaizumi’s tormenting touches, encouraging the alpha to do more, feeling another release scurrying in. Within the dim light, Iwaizumi catches Oikawa’s teary eyes. “Hajime,” he rasps, again and again, half-lidded eyes fluttering whenever he speaks.

Iwaizumi doesn’t hesitate and slides into him.

The noise that came out of Oikawa’s throat implies that this time, there’s no pain. His body’s natural reaction is to tighten at the sudden pressure, but unlike their first try, there’s no resistance. Iwaizumi makes sure Oikawa won’t feel any painful tension. There’s only the incredible feeling of Iwaizumi burying deep into him, satisfying that aching absence Oikawa had always craved to be filled.

“O-Oikawa—fuck,” he grunts, panting against the omega’s mouth, feeling an entirely new wave of sparks igniting his nerves when he sinks in even deeper. An immeasurable sensation shoots through him, stars sparkling across his vision with every thrust. His hips move unhurriedly, picking up the tempo as seconds pass. He gasps for a breath against Oikawa’s ear. “Tooru, are you—are you okay?”

Oikawa replies with a lewd moan and an unmindful nod, hitching his body closer. “I-Iwa-chan,” he huffs and puffs in pleasure, twisting his fingers in his hair, crumbling into the flesh that tugs at his insides.

Hajime’s pace grows greedy, potent, satisfyingly slow – the drag of their skin driving Oikawa wild. He feels his heat flushing all over his body as saliva pools inside his mouth until it drips down from the side of his parted lips. Oikawa wants all of him – wants Hajime until he’s sore and hoarse and tired. Hajime’s weight, his sweat, his ache—he wants everything. His mind and body spirals into nothing but Hajime and he shouts his name, shouts for him to fill him up, grips the sheets, then grips the other’s hair to pull him closer and shoves his tongue inside his mouth.

“I-Iwa-chan, you—you love me, right?” Oikawa breathes out in between wet kisses. He holds on with his legs tight around his waist, as Hajime continues to push forward.

“What are you—” Iwaizumi drags his vision to look at Oikawa’s tear-stained face. “We’re doing this now?” he pants, his breathing ragged.

The hands that dug painfully onto his back disappeared suddenly, then he sees Oikawa miserably wiping tears from his red-rimmed eyes. “E-Even if this doesn’t… doesn’t work out…”

“Shit, come on, don’t say that,” Iwaizumi breathes out and kisses his forehead as assurance, his rhythm withering after hearing Oikawa’s frustrated, strained sobs.

“Just tell me.” Oikawa gulps down the lump in his throat, his voice breaking. “I-I don’t want to lose you. Iwa-chan, even if this – even if this doesn’t work out, will you—you’ll still stay with me? Just tell me, please?” Oikawa begs between despairing sobs, his voice husky, both his heart and body at the brink of completely falling apart.

His eyes, his face – unmasked, desperate, wretched, and saturated with lust all weaving into this odd expression that tortuously impales Iwaizumi’s heart, spurring him into a ripple of mixed emotions

“Oikawa…” he breathes out, his voice gruff but meek.

In the gentlest way possible, Iwaizumi straightens his back and grabs Oikawa’s wrist, away from his face wet with tears. With another honeyed hand behind the omega’s back, Iwaizumi reels him in, their bodies still entwined and connected. He lets Oikawa straddle his lap, welcoming his weight on him. The unfamiliar angle makes Oikawa squeeze his eyes shut, yelping out in what seems more like discomfort than pain. But he settles in nicely after a moment when Iwaizumi surges again. He wraps his arms around Oikawa, leaving absolutely no space between.

“I don’t have to tell you all that,” Iwaizumi whispers, leaning in to plant a soft, tender kiss on his eyelid. He rubs a hand over Oikawa’s damp back, hoping Oikawa would take his words to heart. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

“No matter what?”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi says, kissing the other’s lips before smiling. “No matter what.”

Another sob breaks free when he looks at Iwaizumi, throwing himself at the alpha right after and holding onto him like he’s his only salvation, his only medicine. With strong hands tethering him by the rear, Oikawa begins pushing himself up, then back down, his shins on either side of Iwaizumi’s thighs.

“Does it hurt?” Iwaizumi asks under a groan, the other clinging onto him. Oikawa can’t seem to form proper words, only shaking his head a desperate ‘no’, afraid Iwaizumi would stop.

Their position gives Oikawa more control, and Iwaizumi can feel his knot starting to inflate because Oikawa’s riding him for all he’s worth. He feels it more this time, feels it inside Oikawa, and that’s when Iwaizumi knows he’s not going to last much longer, not with Oikawa tight and glazed around him. Oikawa grinds down, his mouth watering at the pressure - the _fullness_ of it all. The roughness hits him just right, and he throws his head back in absolute bliss.

“I-Iwa-chan…” Oikawa murmurs in the midst of breathless gasps and groans. Iwaizumi can feel Oikawa’s entire body quivering, moaning at each thrust, crying out his alpha’s name again and again because at that moment, Oikawa isn’t able to distinguish pain from pleasure anymore, simply senseless to everything except for the warmth pushing inside him from below.

“Inside me,” he huffs out. “Come inside, Hajime—”

Oikawa’s tremulous voice sends shivers down Iwaizumi’s spine, a powerful impulse overtaking his body. The noises coming out from Oikawa clouds his senses. The omega buries his face in Iwaizumi’s neck as his hips hitch, yanking the knot inside him to get more of the sensation.

Submerged with the brute, animalistic appetites of their bodies, it’s hardly an ordeal for Iwaizumi to oblige to his omega’s whims, swimming along the endless tide of release until his body throbs in a rush of rapture – until Oikawa‘s body gradually falls slack.

Oikawa almost faints against Iwaizumi, the latter pouring himself into him as the knot stays firmly inside him. The alpha throws his head back when he knows he’s near. It’s as though fireworks have exploded from the back of his eyes, a supernova of pleasure igniting within him at lightning speed.

Finding it hard to sit up after, Iwaizumi caves in to the exhaustion and falls forward, collapsing on the young man beneath him, panting against his sweaty skin. Oikawa’s hands goes up to stroke his spiky hair gently, as though he’s petting an animal for being good.

“What? Can’t pull out?” Oikawa’s husky, breathy laugh sounds almost drunk, reaching out to reward his alpha with wet, sloppy kisses. Iwaizumi is surprised he can still laugh and joke like that after their intemperate misadventures. It’s kind of cute, he thinks, and he nibbles on Oikawa’s lip just because he can.

“Uh, sorry, just—just a bit more,” Iwaizumi says next to his ear, panic starting the creep into his tone. He hides his face in Oikawa’s neck when the guilt starts crawling behind him. It must be uncomfortable for Oikawa, his legs and pelvis tired from bending at a weary position for that long. Iwaizumi attempts to empty out the last of his reserves so his knot can wane down – so he can let Oikawa rest.

Oikawa whimpers at the swift wave of pleasure when Iwaizumi pulls out after filling him up, feeling borderline pain now that his body is asking him to rest. He feels kisses on his forehead, until it slowly dips down to his lips. Iwaizumi kisses him again and again, firm and deep and apologetic, pressing onto Oikawa until he melts into a quivering mess over the sheets.

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi asks, resting his forehead against his. He caresses Oikawa’s nape with rough palms, brushing against his jaw, thumbing the tears that dried up over his cheek. He crashes his lips onto Oikawa’s mouth again, to which Oikawa happily reciprocates. Iwaizumi rests on top of him until the aftershocks are gone.

But he figures quickly that it might be uncomfortable for Oikawa to stay in their current position. He grabs the sheets up over their bodies when he feels the cold draft replace the humidity of their body’s cravings.

Iwaizumi moves carefully to Oikawa’s side and flops down beside him, as the other rolls sideward to face him, using Iwaizumi’s upper arm as a pillow. Iwaizumi croaks, “Are you okay?”

With his energy drained out, Oikawa lazily shifts between the sheets and settles more comfortably against Hajime, wallowing in his warmth and scent, his limbs heavy and his heat wonderfully extinguished. Oikawa drags his heavy eyes to open and bobs his head once.

“Mhm, I’m good,” he breathes out, smiling weakly up at Hajime. “I’m more than just okay.”

Iwaizumi likes it when Oikawa’s eyes squint along his smile like that. He returns the look adoringly. “That wasn’t so terrible,” he murmurs, his sleepiness now evident. It’s the very opposite of terrible, and the tired young man next to him gladly hums in agreement. He bounces on the bed to lean in a little closer, kissing the patch of skin closest to his lips. “Do you wanna shower again?”

“Hm, not really,” Oikawa grumbles, burying his face between his collarbones. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping all dirty like this,” he teases and cranes his neck up, flashing him an amused, bawdy smile. “I like that I can still feel Iwa-chan inside after having his way with me.”

Iwaizumi glares at him, lips twitching because somehow Oikawa’s tasteless teasing sets off a peculiar fire within him. Instead of an insulting retort, Iwaizumi reaches to cup Oikawa’ face, playfully biting the bridge of his nose.

“Ah—what are you doing, Iwa-chan, stop!” Oikawa huffs in giggles, the other nibbling at whichever skin is within his range; his lips, his cheeks, his chin – anything would do.

Iwaizumi senses his heat’s fragrance fluctuating again, and he stops messing with Oikawa to ask a question he’s been meaning to ask since Oikawa had inappropriately brought it up.

“Why are you already thinking about breaking up?” Iwaizumi asks with a serious tone. He feels Oikawa’s heartbeat skip nervously. “You were spouting bullshit about this whole thing not working out—”

“We don’t know,” Oikawa cuts off abruptly, burrowing his face in Hajime’s chest and under the covers to hide. “We don’t know what’ll happen in the future. What if Iwa-chan finally gets tired of me because I always squeeze the toothpaste in the middle, or because I always forget to put the laundry in the dryer, or because I always lose my keys and lock myself out of the apartment?”

Oikawa’s voice had a hint of doubt in his voice, betraying the trust they’ve built up over the years. The night stills and Iwaizumi wishes he could see Oikawa’s face.

“What if you find someone else?” he says next, his voice cracking at the very end.

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen. “Oikawa—”

“What if you find a pretty omega who’s actually sweet and nice and shorter and--”

“Holy fuck, Oikawa, shut up. What do you take me for?” Hajime hisses angrily. If Oikawa wasn’t so tired and moony he’d probably headbutt him. Oikawa feels the pair of arms around him tighten instead. “You think I’d leave you just like that? You think I’d do all these things to anyone?” He presses his face into Hajime’s chest, hoping his skin would absorb the water coming out of his eyes.

Oikawa doesn’t answer – doesn’t know why he had been crying so much lately, or why he’s always thinking about the worst case scenario. He’s not one to actively cry when there’s someone else around, even if it’s Hajime. It might be because of his weird omega hormones, or his body’s ridiculous prolactin levels during his heat cycles, but whatever the case, Oikawa forces himself to stop. He hesitates to melt into the other’s embrace at first, but Hajime’s touch makes him realize he shouldn’t hesitate one bit.

“All the things I’ve done from back then up until now,” Iwaizumi starts as he twines their legs together. He presses a kiss on top of Oikawa’s head. “I wouldn’t do that for anyone else but you.”

Iwaizumi feels Oikawa smile a little against his chest, a shaky sigh of gratitude tickling his skin. He can’t tell if it’s his own heartbeat or Oikawa’s that’s resonating along the frosty air. The mattress dips slightly when Oikawa pops out from under the sheets, his face twisted into something Iwaizumi can’t quite describe. It’s dark, but he can see his relieved brown eyes, dark lashes wet with tears, hair still damp with sweat and bathwater.

“Thank you.”

Oikawa is warming up to the idea of consummating their bond for the third time until a yawn makes its way up to his mouth. Hajime presses his mouth against his once they’re closed, and quite honestly, Oikawa doesn’t mind. He’ll never get tired of the kissing.

“Stop thinking too much and go to sleep,” Hajime tells him, and Oikawa can’t help but yield at the security of his arms and the warmth of their thick blanket.

Their first time wasn’t the best – and Oikawa knows it’s too late to change what could have been. But that’s fine, he thinks. The second time undoubtedly made up for it, and Oikawa is certain there’ll be more opportunities to make up for each misstep they might run into.

His mind is still in a daze when he closes his eyes, his body screaming for rest. And so, Oikawa just drowns into Hajime’s embrace – _his alpha’s embrace –_ and that thought alone makes his heart jump like wildfire. He huddles closer, finding it easy to lapse into a deep sleep.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Can someone please wake Iwaizumi-san up?”

It takes two nudges from the student next to his desk for Iwaizumi to sit up and peel his eyes open. He blinks a few times to clear his vision, finding himself in a lecture hall and with several eyes on him. He immediately straightens up from his seat when he sees his professor’s scowl directed at him.

“Good for you to join us again,” he hears the professor speak through the microphone, making sure everyone would hear as he stands behind the podium. “By the way, you have ten minutes left to work on that exercise I gave.”

Iwaizumi grunts drowsily, vibrating from the back of his throat. He looks tiredly at the paper left unanswered on his desk and scratches his head in anger, cursing under his breath. There’s a soft murmur of giggles from his classmates and he wishes he can glare at all of them to death.

“Oops, my bad,” his professor cuts in again, looking at his wrist watch. “That’s _nine_ minutes left to explain ergonomics though psychomotor work capabilities and environmental stressors, Iwaizumi-san.”

“I get it already, just shut the fuck up,” Iwaizumi whispers to himself, quiet enough that his seatmates wouldn’t hear. He rubs his eyes with his knuckles to get rid of his sleepiness, then leans down to viciously write down on the poor piece of paper.

He figures Oikawa would also end up sleeping in class, except the idiot didn’t go to school, absolutely refusing to take suppressants. Unlike Iwaizumi, who couldn’t get a wink of sleep last night because a certain someone keeps waking him up in the middle of the night asking for sex, Oikawa stayed at home, doing what he needs to do – or perhaps he’s sleeping the day away, he doesn’t know. But he must be tired after all they had done last night. The thought makes Iwaizumi jealous. There’s nothing else he wants to do but to lie down on his bed and sleep, curled up in the thickest blankets in the world – a snuggling Oikawa may or may not be included.

Iwaizumi doesn’t think of it as just sex, and he doesn’t really want to label what had happened (multiple times) as something vulgar. All he needs to know is that he’s happy, because they’re officially _bonded,_ and Oikawa trusts him enough to quench his upcoming heats – a duty Iwaizumi isn’t sure if he should be happy to fulfill or not. That fact isn’t so surprising, but now that his rut’s spell on him had passed and his normal brain functions are working, it’s now easier to contemplate on what had taken place.

They did it five times.

It’s Oikawa’s first night and they did it _five times._

Last night felt like he had stepped on deserted island, mapping out the land and exploring it for the first time. He learns how to perfectly fit their bodies together, how to steal in a breath between kisses, how to bring out the sweetest sounds from the omega’s mouth. From scenting to shy kisses to _that_ – Iwaizumi’s brain is still having a hard time registering every feeling, every taste. It was like an endless cycle of ravenous need, and not even his wildest dreams can compare. Because by the fourth wave of Oikawa’s heat, Iwaizumi finds that he’s just insatiable, which isn’t quite fair, since Oikawa couldn’t help it, while Iwaizumi, well – he just happens to be there and is head over heels for him. That’s not so bad, Iwaizumi thinks. So despite the dark circles and his brain’s inability to function academically as of the moment, he’s never been happier. He definitely doesn’t look the part right now, but he can say that he’s ridiculously happy inside his head, for the most part anyway.

He’s still deep in thought when he decides to stop thinking about last night’s happenings to prevent any unsought boners. Their professor then orders them to pass their papers, and Iwaizumi absently passes his, even though half of it was left blank. It’s better than nothing.

His pocket buzzes not a minute later. He takes out his phone from his pockets easily because he’s sitting at the back. He sees Oikawa’s name next to a poop emoji, eyes widening at the thought of something bad happening to him, calling him at such a time.

“Hey, Oikawa? Are you alright? What’s wrong?” he attacks him with questions immediately, the sound of his voice low with concern. He pushes in his earphones discreetly so the other’s voice is clearer.

“ _Iwa-chan_!” the other line yells out. “ _We’re out of spoons!_ ”

He blinks, still sort of half-asleep, before realizing this phone call is nowhere near an emergency, no matter how urgent Oikawa sounded. Iwaizumi sighs and massages his temples. “We only have one spoon.”

“ _Yeah, I know!_ ” Oikawa cries out. “ _And I can’t find it!_ ”

“Use chopsticks.”

“ _I’m eating cereal_!”

“Then use your fucking hands, dumbass!” Iwaizumi whispers angrily over the phone. “I’m still in class! Don’t call me unless it’s an emergency.”

“ _Iwa-chan, wait—!_ ”

Iwaizumi presses the red button in his screen firmly, letting out a sound that’s somewhere between a sigh and a groan as he rubs his eyes again to focus on another lecture. His phone vibrates again. It’s a text message this time.

 

 **oikawa**  
_090-2677-78xx_  
u hang up so fast!! (｡╯3╰｡)  
didnt get the chance to say i miss u (´ε｀ )♡  
_09:32 AM_

 

Iwaizumi boyishly covers his mouth with his knuckles, embarrassed even though only the two of them can see the conversation. They’ve only been apart for literally two hours and he’s already like this. But still, Oikawa’s message teases a small smile and a blush out of him, and for some reason, it kind of makes him want to change Oikawa’s emoji in his contact list. He deletes the poop in his name, hating himself more and more as he scrolls for a more appropriate emoji. Iwaizumi just has to make sure Oikawa wouldn’t find out or he’d have no other choice but to fucking kill himself.

 

 **oikawa**  
_090-2677-78xx_  
oh and bring home some milk!!  
we’re out!!!! (´｡• ω •｡`) ♡       
_09:34 AM_

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

In the end, Iwaizumi couldn’t help skipping his last class (whoever wants to attend Statistics is beyond him) so he could walk back straight to their apartment. It’s been worrying him how he had to leave Oikawa alone. That wasn’t a problem back then, and it’s not really a problem now, and it’s just Iwaizumi’s simply looking for an excuse to come back home.

And just as he had expected, Oikawa’s there in his silly little nest by the living room. It’s the usual scene, caused by his usual habits – Iwaizumi’s clothes sprawled on the ground, pillows and blankets forming a crater of coziness above their carpet. Oikawa is right at the center of it, eating off from a large plastic bag of sweet potato-flavored KitKats his mother had given them when she visited, plus an empty box of cereal and a carton of milk next to him.

“Ah! Welcome home, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa shouts happily, eyes sparkling and wide in relieved surprise. He sits up. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” he asks with a tilt of his head.

Iwaizumi drops his backpack and a paper bag from FamilyMart from where he’s standing. He couldn’t help but examine Oikawa, wearing zero clothes, a thick blanket covering only the crucial parts.

“And aren’t you supposed to be wearing clothes?” Iwaizumi snaps back with the same words. He throws him a glare and an annoyed grunt when he takes off his own jacket, throwing it roughly at Oikawa’s face, earning him a quiet ‘ow!’ from the other man. “Go and put some clothes on, idiot! You’ll get a cold!”

Oikawa only pouts, but welcomes Hajime’s thrown jacket into his nest, hugging it like a pillow. “But I keep wanting to take my clothes off anyway!” The puff of his cheeks then broadens into a smile when he looks up at Hajime. “I’m still in heat, remember?”

Of course Iwaizumi fucking remembers. He’d been thinking about it all day. Iwaizumi hides his blushing face by looking away and asking if he had eaten, to which Oikawa replies “a little too much perhaps” as he unironically bites into another KitKat bar. His eyes trail over his nest, eyebrows twitching when his vision lands on his laundry that had been taken advantage of once again.

“Sure looks comfy,” Iwaizumi remarks sarcastically, gaze focused on the cove of soft things and junk food.

Oikawa falls back to his previous curled up position, as if to emphasize his comment, the white sheets charmingly snaking around his limbs, making sure there’s a touch of skin exposed; his midriff and arms peeking out, all vulnerable to the cold as Oikawa hugs the dark green jacket Iwaizumi had been wearing just seconds before.

His brown eyes didn’t leave him even for one second. “Want to join me?” Oikawa invites him, his voice hinting at something obscene. “They’re showing reruns of Kamen Rider Ex-Aid.”

This is the only time he misses that flustered, awkward Oikawa – the Oikawa that couldn’t even kiss him goodbye properly. Iwaizumi snorts out loud and pretends he’s not affected – or _tempted_ – by literally everything Oikawa is doing (because he is). Sure, Oikawa and Kamen Rider reruns might sound super awesome, but the moment he gives in, he’s not sure how he’ll be able to escape.

“No thanks.”

“I’ve been waiting all day for you and this is what I get?” Oikawa whines bitterly and burrows his face in Hajime’s jacket. “ _No thanks?”_

Iwaizumi only looks away, pretending to look calm and unaffected. “Put some clothes on and I’ll think about it.”

It feels wrong to walk away from an omega’s invitation, his alpha instincts practically screaming ‘what the fuck are you doing’ over and over inside his head. But he turns to his heel anyway and brisk-walked towards their room. He changes into something warmer, and grabs some clothes for Oikawa because he knows he won’t willingly do what he’d said. Iwaizumi draws in a deep breath, giving himself a pep talk to keep it in his pants and walks back out.

Then there’s Oikawa, who’s now sporting his jacket – and _only_ his jacket, innocently munching on another KitKat bar. Iwaizumi stares at him with vacant sage-green eyes, lips tightened into a thin line.

“What? You said I should put some clothes on,” Oikawa says matter-of-factly.

Iwaizumi hates this.

In a blink of an eye, Iwaizumi lunges and tackles Oikawa down. He prowls on top of him like a predator, the sounds from the back of his throat sounding more like a wolf’s hunting growl. He nips and glosses over the tender skin of Oikawa’s neck right after catching a glimpse of his big brown eyes. Watching his fair skin go red, Iwaizumi scents him all over, sliding his tongue along his collarbone up to the side of his neck until he reaches the back of his ears.

When he props his arms and pulls back, he’s amused at the blazing warmth painting across Oikawa’s skin, red crawling along his cheeks and ears. Iwaizumi stares seriously back at Oikawa’s moon eyes.

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

It takes a few seconds for Oikawa to sort out what he should do, more than surprised that Hajime had given in so easily. He stares back at the man pinning him down. “Hm,” he chimes in with a short melody, lips curving into a smile as he slides his hands up to the sides of Iwaizumi’s face, lifting his chin up to brush his lips against Hajime’s.

“I think I have a pretty good idea.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

The University of Tsukuba’s volleyball team is, in all aspects of the game, not an easy opponent to tear down. Oikawa eyes each and every player on the other side of the court, wearing that blinding sky blue uniform that contrasted with their black ones. He catches a glimpse of a recognizable head of faded rose hair among them. The said young man spots Oikawa too, flashing a sneaky grin at him, to which Oikawa responds with a tongue out sticking out.

Standing right beside his old friend, there’s a familiar figure that sends traumatic high school flashbacks in the back of his brain. Oikawa sees the ex-captain of Karasuno’s volleyball team across the court, arms crossed. It’s been a long time since he had seen Sawamura Daichi – face still square and firm, eyes showing no external hint of weakness.

“Whoa, where did Tsukuba get _that_ guy?” he hears Yaku comment from behind.

Oikawa follows where their libero had been staring. There’s a tall, heavy-looking young man, standing out from the team because of his light ash brown hair and olive complexion. Even from afar, Oikawa can tell the remarkable fellow is an alpha, his Semitic facial cuts accentuating his forbidding deep-set eyes.

“A foreigner!” Tendou yells out curiously, stretching to stand on his tiptoes to peek at the other team, sounding strangely too excited at the prospect of beating a strong non-Japanese player. “Hey, guys, on a scale from Oikawa to Iwaizumi, how cool do you think this guy is?”

Oikawa places a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. “Sorry, Iwa-chan,” he says apologetically.

“What?” Iwaizumi raises one brow. “I’m the ten.”

“Sure you are.”

Sugawara smiles in amusement before looking at Tendou. “Daichi told me about him, guy’s from America apparently. He’s a regular too.”

“Oh man, that’s so cool…!” Tendou mutters in awe, his eerie eyes shining in excitement, fists shaking. “I can’t wait to see that devastation on his face when he learns his utter uselessness!”

Suddenly, their coach claps his hand once to catch their attention, beckoning them to huddle closer.

“Listen up,” Coach Inoue bellows as he surveys his team. “The head coach of F.C Tokyo will be spectating. As you all know, they’re a rising team within the V. League—” He gives a sharp look at Oikawa. “It’s a good opportunity if you’re aiming for the national team.”

Oikawa tenses up on the side in both excitement and anxiety, looking unusually restless when Tsukuba’s starting players are being introduced over the microphone. The moderator seemed to have a hard time pronouncing the new blood’s name, but Oikawa’s more interested with another unfamiliar name that resounds through the speakers. His vision turns to a slender young man he had only seen from the benches in previous games, the softness of his body language suggesting that he might be a freshman. Oikawa assumes the kid might be a beta too, aware of Tsukuba’s subtle dislike for omegas. He must be some sort of last resort. There’s no way a kid like that is a regular.

Not a minute later, the players of Chuo are brought in and begins high-fiving and running around on their side of the court. Oikawa only starts to walk when Hajime pats his back lightly.

“Oikawa,” Hajime states bluntly, eyes narrowing as his gaze sweeps questioningly over Oikawa’s brown ones.

He takes in his alpha’s look of concern. “I told you to stop worrying,” Oikawa assures him. His tone is warm, and his smile audible. He winks at Hajime, his voice softer when he adds, “My heat’s completely gone.”

Hajime appears to have trusted his words when his expression changes back to his trademark frowning pout, although Oikawa is aware that he’d be able to tell if he was lying.

On the other side of the gym, Hanamaki turns his attention to both Iwaizumi and Oikawa, eyebrows mushed together in a curious line. His eyes narrow at the two, noticing a different air between them, though he couldn’t quite pinpoint what exactly had changed. He hadn’t seen them in a while. It’s weird enough that Oikawa is sharing less and less about his life with his Iwa-chan on social media, chatting less about what he and Iwaizumi had been doing in their group chats.

That just screams suspicious to him.

“Kiyohara,” Hanamaki hears their vice-captain call the nervous freshman who was lucky enough to fill in as an outside hitter. “This is your first official match, right?” Sawamura asks, smiling. The first year responds with a diligent ‘yes’ and Sawamura lets out a deep laugh. “Don’t be so nervous. You’ll do just fine.”

The young player nods nervously.

“Hey, Kiyohara.” Hanamaki chimes in and points a finger at Oikawa, his gaze still glued at the enemy setter. “You know that guy?”

Kiyohara hesitates. He thinks everything is a trick question and Hanamaki likes to take advantage of that. “Oikawa Tooru?”

“Yeah. He’s the perfect playmaker,” he says with an almost annoyed grin, placing both hands on his hips. They used to be in the same team, but now that they’re playing against each other, Hanamaki realizes how troublesome Oikawa can be. “That dude is crazy good. He’s going to kick your ass when you least expect it.” The freshman grows even more anxious if that’s even possible. “But he doesn’t do well against strong outside hitters. That’s you.”

“W-What? Really?”

Sawamura gives him a reassuring smile and nods. “Oikawa hasn’t seen you play yet. He’ll focus more on stopping our decoy, Nuri.” He looks at the oddball in their group, standing timidly by the team captain as the senior players try to explain the game plan in English.

Hanamaki continues, “When Oikawa’s in a pinch, he tosses to _that_ guy.”

Kiyohara glances a bit to the left, where Hanamaki is pointing. “Number 14?” he says with uncertainty, squinting his eyes because the player is too far from them. “Iwaizumi Hajime?”

“Chuo’s setter likes tossing to him when he’s under pressure,” he says, catching Sawamura’s curious look directed at Iwaizumi. Over on the other side, Chuo’s players gather in a circle, shouting battle cries with their university’s flag in the middle for good luck. “Iwaizumi is a strong hitter, front and back. Sometimes, he stands behind passers if he’s in the front row ‘cause he counterattacks like crazy. He can hit the ball against a rock solid block, and when he’s in the back, he’s as good as Sawamura at defense.”

The freshman sucks in a nervous gasp, standing stiffly on the ground now that he’s aware who he’s fighting against. He’s vaguely familiar with Chuo’s players, especially that Tendou Satori, who he had heard about even back in high school. Glancing over to Iwaizumi Hajime, he sees the guy horseplaying with his teammates, particularly Oikawa Tooru. Older-looking players come to join in as well, ruffling Iwaizumi’s hair to tease him. But he focuses back at Oikawa. Those two together seems so intriguing somehow, but Kiyohara doesn’t know why. His instincts are telling him to steer clear of them. He can’t quite put his finger on it. Kiyohara swallows hard, suddenly nervous.

But naturally, Sawamura rests a calming hand on his shoulder.

“Cut Oikawa’s groove, Kiyohara. You’re the only one who can do it.” Sawamura tells him, letting his own confidence seep through the younger man, knowing any words of encouragement would be helpful. “He already knows how we play, so it’s your job to surprise him.”

Kiyohara takes a deep breath, eyes now brimming with determination. “Okay, I can do this, I can totally do this,” he convinces himself, jumping slightly on the balls of his feet. He glances up at his superiors and gratefully bows at them. “Thank you, Sawamura-senpai! Hanamaki-senpai!”

When it comes to potential, Sawamura is not the type to lie about it.

Since their team’s previous rotations did not include the freshman, Sawamura had to convince their coach to put him in as the initial server and give the kid a chance. He wants him to learn how to play under pressure. It wasn’t a mistake to put the newbie in, since they got the first point of the game, completely surprising the other team. And just as Hanamaki had expected, they’re focusing more on their foreign player whenever he’s in the front row when they really shouldn’t be.

When Oikawa starts to lose his nerves (because that kid Kiyohara ended up being oddly unpredictable and keeps catching him off guard), Hanamaki is able to tell where the ball is going to go. Because just like before, ever since their middle school days, Oikawa still has a bad habit of instinctively tossing to Iwaizumi, even though there are far better options.

Tsukuba wins the first set almost too easily it’s almost suspicious. Still, Hanamaki grins at Iwaizumi’s direction, and Iwaizumi vindictively smirks back at him. Then he turns to watch Oikawa, his jaw locked and obviously frustrated when the coach subs him out. The substitution looks like it won’t last long, and it seems like it’s Iwaizumi who suggested it, based on how Oikawa is frowning and pouting angrily at him. Hanamaki’s eyes then swing over to Sawamura when a silver-haired sophomore fills in as the setter, spotting an interesting glint in his vice-captain’s eyes.

They change courts. Chuo leads the second set this time, their coach liberally substituting members to escape from a weak rotation. Hanamaki notices how the opponents seem calmer when picking up Sugawara’s tosses, since he’d always play with a consistent pattern. Sawamura knows this very well, and Hanamaki swears there’s a tinge of guilt trickling from his usually assertive voice when he’s instructing the team on how to counter the enemy’s backup setter. Sugawara isn’t as aggressive as Oikawa – and it’s obvious that he’s not much of an offensive threat either, so Hanamaki and the others were able to score for a while until more heavy attackers got subbed in.

During a 10-10 draw in the third set, Chuo’s coach calls for a time-out.

Hanamaki drifts around the court after the whistle, deciding to watch his former teammates linger at the opposite corner, where Chuo’s players huddle around their coach. It’s hard to see from his view, but he’s able to spot Iwaizumi easing Oikawa down to sit on the bench, a hand on his shoulder. Iwaizumi then crouches on the balls of his feet, a level lower than Oikawa, an arm resting one knee. He gingerly brushes Oikawa’s copper brown hair away from his sweaty brow, mouthing words of comfort – at least that’s what Hanamaki thinks he’s saying, relatively surprised at Iwaizumi’s uncharacteristically submissive action. He was rougher back in high school – the epitome of an alpha’s tough love.

With brows raised high, Hanamaki studies them a bit more, thinking how strange it is that the two of them aren’t mixing in with the other players, as though they have their own personal time-out.

Oikawa comes back to the game a minute later, with a shockingly different aura.

Unlike his alpha teammates, Hanamaki doesn’t have that magic to sniff out people’s energies, much less decipher their scents or what they’re channeling, so it’s weird how he feels like there’s something evidently different about Oikawa. Several hits and misses later, Chuo is at match point, and Hanamaki’s assumptions are proven true when Oikawa tosses the ball at a splendid angle, landing perfectly against Iwaizumi’s hand that spiked their way into conquest.

Hanamaki sighs deeply at the loss, his shoulders sagging in disappointment.

“It’s just like what you’ve said, Hanamaki-senpai,” Kiyohara says to him, out of breath, and gives him a light tap on the back as he stares at Chuo’s golden pair. Hanamaki can only smile wistfully and nod in agreement. He lets out another loud sigh. Of all people, he knows exactly how in sync they are.

“It’s as natural as breathing to them,” Hanamaki mutters absently, still a bit down with losing.

The freshman starter glances up at him suddenly.

“Hanamaki-senpai, you knew, didn’t you?”

“Hm?” Hanamaki raises a confused eyebrow. “Knew what?”

“That they’re mates.”

Hanamaki blinks, laughing when he realizes what the younger player had said. “What? No. They’re super close but they aren’t bonded or anythi—” He stops immediately when his eyes roll over to Chuo’s side of the court where everyone is celebrating. His pupils dilate just in time – just as Oikawa runs over to Iwaizumi and throws himself at him, stealing a quick kiss on his cheek. It lasted for only a fraction of a second, and before any other spectator can notice, their teammates bombarded their space over for a victorious group hug, completely covering the both of them.

His persistent bafflement finally comes to a halt.

“Holy _shit_.”

Kiyohara tilts his head. “What’s wrong, senpai?”

Hanamaki swings his head around. “This explains _everything_! You’re right, Kiyohara! Oh god, it’s happening. It’s finally—!” he exclaims with the widest eyes, dramatically putting his hands over his head at the shocking news. “They’re together, fuck, _fuck_ , they’re—they didn’t tell me!”

The loud cheers of Chuo’s side of the gym and the bass drums snaps him out. He pauses for a minute to declutter his thoughts before turning away, deciding to give the winning team some privacy until they’re ordered to line up and shake hands with Chuo. When it’s his turn to shake Oikawa’s hand, he lets the handshake linger before flashing him a mischievous grin.

“First of all, how dare you,” Hanamaki tells him, serious and offended. Oikawa is taken aback, blinking confusedly at him. One second later, his face changes, and he sneers, his lips curling into a creepy smile. “Secondly, congrats, man. I’m really happy for you.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes, throwing him a suspicious look and a confused twitch of an eyebrow. He senses something else in Hanamaki’s tone, but figures it’s just his mind playing with him and pulls up a confident, mocking smile. “Thanks,” he says as their hands shift to a fist bump. “Better luck next time, Makki!”

He scampers away to shake hands with the other players. Iwaizumi comes running to him next, but instead of a handshake, Hanamaki raises both palms for a high five. His old friend smiles at him.

“It’s gotta be frustrating, huh?” Hanamaki says just as Iwaizumi hits his palms hard.

Iwaizumi pauses and squints his eyes at his friend, not getting the context. Did they not win? Why should he be frustrated? Unfortunately, Hanamaki doesn’t help with his confusion, only slapping his shoulder hard like he’s consoling a sad friend. “Looks like I won’t be able to invite you to parties anymore. Good luck out there, buddy.”

He leaves Iwaizumi standing there, completely confused.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Although their campus is two times bigger than Chuo University’s school grounds in Korakuen, Kiyohara Jun finds himself lost in the home team’s sports complex. Who could blame him? The building is literally six storeys high, and the hallways are like labyrinths, built exclusively to lead outsiders like him astray. He’s been to three empty locker rooms, and he still can’t find the room Chuo is generous enough to lend to them.

Suddenly he hears a couple of footsteps on the other end of the corridor. His heart fills with relief as he runs to the direction of the human sounds, hoping these are his teammates looking for him. The door is left ajar and he slides it a little bit more, only to find another empty locker room.

Kiyohara’s first instinct when he hears something slam against the lockers is to hide behind another row of lockers and keep his mouth shut.

“W-Wait, nngh…! Iwa-chan—someone might—”

“No one comes here,” Iwaizumi murmurs, mouthing the other’s neck, licking the sweat pooling in Oikawa’s clavicle. “I don’t smell anyone.”

The padlocks dig painfully behind his back when Hajime presses himself closer, but strangely Oikawa doesn’t mind. He barely had time to register the adrenaline-fueled hunger in Hajime’s hazel eyes before he got slammed against the lockers, kissing him like it’s been ages since they last met. Oikawa then drags his hands from the hem of Hajime’s black uniform, sliding it under the fabric to caress Hajime’s back until both his hands press against his shoulder blades, drenched in fresh sweat from the previous match.

They desperately take off their jerseys like it’s a hundred degrees inside.

Hajime pushes him up, forcing Oikawa to wrap his legs around his hips. Oikawa clings onto the young man’s shoulders in an attempt to keep himself from completely melting, the fever in his body rising up as Hajime impatiently devours his mouth. For a second, his green eyes flares into a vulturine red, and that’s when Oikawa could fully appreciate the alpha’s scent, his touch, his hunger. Hajime can probably sense the same thing from him.

“Iwa-chan—Hajime, _shit_ , fuck me—”

By then, Oikawa’s mind is a disoriented mess – the only thing his brain could fully grasp is how Hajime had almost ripped his clothes off, roughly shedding them off until the only fabrics clinging onto his sticky skin are his knee pads and shorts that are hanging on one thigh.

Oikawa didn’t quite expect the brutal thrust, arching his body and moaning out Hajime’s name miserably, the back of his head clanging against the lockers. Hajime doesn’t take it easy, the adrenaline that had built up from playing a full match still not simmering down. He learns after several attempts that Oikawa likes it hard. To prove it further, Oikawa breathlessly urges him to go deeper, begging for more, his incoherent words grazing against Hajime’s mouth again and again. Hajime’s control is waning, but his grip still strong as his pace picks up erratically.

Hajime’s gut clenches at Oikawa’s pleading noises, losing it completely when Oikawa tightens himself to torment the alpha. Oikawa throws his head back again, feeling his entire body clenching at the inescapable feeling of being claimed and filled up. He tugs at Hajime’s neck with a whimper, wanting to wrap his arms around the man. Oikawa’s weight plummets down after reaching his high, causing Hajime to fall onto his knees, hitting the hard floor and bringing down Oikawa with him. Oikawa rewards him with a languid kiss, cupping his face as he feels all the bones in his body melt.

“You were making a lot of noise,” Iwaizumi murmurs, pulling back a little from the tender kiss.

“I can’t help it,” Oikawa answers breathily, smiling over the other’s lips. “I’ve been wanting you to fuck me ever since the second set started.” He kisses along Hajime’s face, brushing along his chin until he reaches his jaw.

Unlike Oikawa who is a short-winded, whimpering mess every time they do it, Iwaizumi is the opposite. He doesn’t say much, restricting his sexual noises to raspy sounds of Oikawa's name and probably some other words Oikawa is too dazed to even bother to comprehend. Hajime is like a wolf who creates little to no noise to prevent other predators from getting a fix on their most vulnerable state.

It's a weird thought, but Oikawa just laughs, planting a chaste kiss on Hajime's parted lips. Before he could give in under Hajime’s embrace and end up with an unnecessary second round, Oikawa draws himself away.

“We should get going,” Oikawa says in slight disappointment, lazily brushing his lips against the Hajime’s. “They might be looking for us.” He draws away and looks up at the alpha, who leans over to the side to grab their shirts. He helps dressing up Oikawa first, before yanking down his own jersey over his head. Hajime struggles to stand, grabbing Oikawa’s arms with him. Oikawa feels like his knees had turned into jelly when he gets pulled him up. “Iwa-chan, I can’t walk. You should take responsibility and carry me.”

“Yeah, right,” Iwaizumi scoffs, knowing very well that what had happened a minute ago is _nothing_ compared to what Oikawa can endure.

Tugging the laces of his Asics Rothes tight, Iwaizumi stops suddenly and sniffs the air.

Oikawa tips his head to the side. “Iwa-chan? What’s wrong?”

Iwaizumi shakes his head and irons his clothes so he could at least look normal. “Nah, it’s nothing. I thought I smelled someone else.” He then shakes his head and runs his fingers through Oikawa’s hair to fluff it back to normal. “It’s probably just the smell from the lockers.” He grabs the other’s wrist. “Man, I need a shower.”

On the other side of the locker room, Kiyohara finally lets himself to breathe as soon as he hears the two walk out. His heart is beating fast and he was so sure Iwaizumi Hajime could hear it. He freezes again when he hears another voice, but this time it’s echoing from the outside.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you two!” It sounds familiar. He’s probably one of the players he had played against earlier. Kiyohara doesn’t risk taking a peek though. “Otani-san is treating us dinner!”

“Captain’s treating us? That’s new,” Oikawa says. “Can we clean up first?”

There’s a short moment of silence before the third person speaks again.

“You guys haven’t showered yet? You've been gone for like, half an hour! What? Did you have sex ten times or something?"

“Shut up, Kou-chan. We only did it _seven_ times— _ow_! Iwa-chan, what the hell! I was just kidding!”

Once the voices and the footsteps are inaudible, Kiyohara lets out the loudest sigh in his entire lifetime.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

**Hajime-kun is a Killjoy & Won’t Join our Group chat (3)**

  
**Hanamaki Takahiro**  
[iwaizumi and oikawa are finally fucking]  
[congratulations you guys]  
[u two really tied the knot if u catch my drift]  
_Hanamaki Takahiro sent a sticker._  
_05:37 PM_

 **Matsukawa Issei**  
[wait what]  
[is this for real?]  
_05:39 PM_

 **Oikawa Tooru**  
[makki!!! where did you hear this!!!]  
_Oikawa Tooru sent a sticker._  
_05:43 PM_

 **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
[i shook your hand after our match]  
[and thats when i knew]          
[that you are currently fucking iwaizumi hajime]  
[nah im kidding]  
[our first year saw u getting it on in the lockers after the game]         
_05:48 PM_

 **Matsukawa Issei**  
[oh shit are you serious how shameless]  
[poor iwaizumi]  
[he’s stuck with you until he dies]       
[or until you die]  
[oh man what is he thinking]  
[is he alright? is he there?]  
[congrats anyway i guess?]      
_05:55 PM_

 **Oikawa Tooru**  
[u guys are the fucking worst]             
_Oikawa Tooru sent a sticker.  
06:03 PM_

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Friday nights are slow without Hajime.

Oikawa comes home late with a plastic bag of convenience store milk bread, instant yakisoba, and a bottle of Mitsuya Cider – because Hajime won’t be home yet because of his stupid part-time job, and he thinks it’s not a very good idea to cook by himself. His footsteps are loud within the stillness of the apartment. Oikawa feels his skin tingle a little when he takes off his coat. He sits down by his favorite spot in front of the television, dropping his poor excuse of a dinner on the kotatsu that they never did dismantle. Hajime keeps telling him to store it away when they don’t use it, because it’s taking too much space and their electricity bill has not seen better days with it. Oikawa plugs it in and settles beneath it just as the heat starts to radiate.

With a woeful sigh, he turns on the television, but not before seeing two sticky notes right in the middle of the screen. Oikawa’s lips twitch into a smile. Then he stands up and lazily walks through the kitchen. He looks at the fridge. Hajime’s notes weren’t lying.

He imagines Hajime’s husky voice when he had read ‘there’s leftover gyudon in the fridge’ followed up with ‘don’t eat convenience store food tonight’. Oikawa finds himself laughing a little, heating up the meal Hajime had saved up. The entire house seems so static and dull, and the one minute timer Oikawa had clicked on the microwave feels like an hour. Leaning back against the counter, Oikawa’s eyes filled with heartsease dart up to the wall clock. It’s seven-thirty, and he’s already missing Hajime.

Oikawa thinks he might be exaggerating things, but he wills his blues to die down when he eats dinner in silence. There’s a loud sound when his phone rings and vibrates against the wooden surface of their kotatsu.

 

 **Hajime** **Iwa-chan**  
_090-4886-39xx_  
i might be home a little later than usual  
meeting up with my group at school after work  
_07:55 PM_

 

“Is he serious?” he groans out loud, feeling his stomach drop dishearteningly. He’s about to text back when his phone suddenly blacks out, the screen flashing an empty battery icon. Oikawa narrows his eyes at his phone, pretty much certain that the gods are playing with his feelings, keeping him away from Hajime for some reason.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“Who left coffee stains all over my aerodynamics book?”

“Oops, that’s probably me,” Yazawa admits, unashamed. He doesn’t look at the young woman who had asked, so he wasn’t able to see Aoyama’s deadly glare.

“Stop,” Iwaizumi warns before any more bickering takes place, knowing full well the members of his group are as good at drafting motor designs as one-upping each other with childish insults.

The library is considerably quieter at night – and it smells even more like coffee and lack of sleep, too. Iwaizumi stares at Aoyama, who’s in charge of drafts, then pans over to her left where Yazawa sits while he busied himself with his own tasks. The other two in his group weren’t able to make it. It’s both a blessing and a curse to be stuck with the same people from the last project, since they already know each other’s strengths and weaknesses, but then again their personalities clash, and disagreements are common occurrences. Iwaizumi surveys the books on the desk before discreetly pulling up his phone from his pockets.

Oikawa isn’t replying to his messages. He’s probably asleep already, but Iwaizumi knows he won’t sleep this early. He stares at the last message he had sent. Is Oikawa angry? Is he actually sulking and giving him the silent treatment? Iwaizumi scoffs. If Oikawa thinks that would make him come home sooner – well, fuck, he is absolutely _right_.

“Library closes at eleven,” Iwaizumi states, sitting more upright. He stops writing and clears his throat to get everyone’s attention. “We should probably wrap it up.”

“Huh? We have half an hour more,” Yazawa says, before raising his brows at Iwaizumi, who keeps peeking at his phone. It’s unusual for him to want to leave early. “Oh, I get it. Is your boyfriend begging you to come home already?”

“Wait. Boyfriend?” Aoyama asks, head snapping up in surprise. Her tired eyes light up a bit, and Iwaizumi notes her expression sparkling with curiosity. “Is it Oikawa-san? You’re together now?”

“Nah, but they might as well be,” Yazawa answers for him, laughing, although Iwaizumi doesn’t really plan on denying it and keeps a straight face. He knows Aoyama is one of Oikawa’s fans, but he’s not entirely sure what _kind_ of fan she is, so he doesn’t talk about Oikawa too much whenever she's around. “But, hey, I’m tired, you’re tired. We can meet up tomorrow morning to finish up the final chapter.”

“Yeah, that’ll work,” Iwaizumi says, checking the time on his phone. He offers to take the books back to their shelves, trying to get out of the reading room before Aoyama thinks of asking any more questions.

Outside, the ground is wet with sleet, and Iwaizumi blames the frequent flurries of snow. He walks carefully, because the pavement is weirdly slippery. The news didn’t say anything about snow coming, so there were huge delays in trains. Iwaizumi even ended up being late for his part-time job in Sumida. But thankfully the snowfall didn’t last long, ice pellets melting into rain almost instantly.

His pockets vibrate not a minute after stepping out of the library.

 

 **Unknown**  
_090-1621-44xx_  
Iwa-chan. I need help.  
I’m at the back of the gym.  
_10:49 PM_

 

“Oikawa?” Iwaizumi gasps in concern, brows crunching. He doesn’t recognize the number, maybe he lost his phone or something? He freezes, heart pounding at what might’ve happened. He drags his shaky hands through his hair in frantic worry.

He runs, his fast breath syncing with his wet footsteps until he sprints at a corner of the building. Iwaizumi stops. The thrashing of the bushes and the trees that outlines the old gym is deafens as he shouts Oikawa’s name. There’s no response. The winter wind slaps his face, checking every nook, even checking inside if he’s there. He clicks his tongue and bites his lip in frustration. He checks his phone again, thinking maybe Oikawa had texted again. He’s calls the number, then hears a faint ringing from behind him.

Iwaizumi spins so fast he almost felt dizzy.

“What a coincidence Iwaizumi-san. Don’t ya think it’s a bit late to be outside?”

Visibility is poor, so Iwaizumi can’t recognize the face immediately. But Iwaizumi can smell him. It’s familiar, but he can’t put a name on the scent, mixing in with two other humans. His vision adjusts instinctively. There’s a man walking towards him, his pack following right behind him.

Iwaizumi feels his blood boil, recognizing the alpha who attacked Oikawa before. “Endo Hisanobu,” he says with barely contained annoyance. He runs his tongue over his teeth, hands balling into fists. “Where’s Oikawa?”

“Don’t worry about him,” Endo says, grinning. He’s holding a bat. “I see you still have that scary face on, Iwaizumi-san.”

“I see you’re into baseball now. What? Basketball team kicked you out or something?” Iwaizumi retorts. His concern fizzles when he realizes he had fallen into a trap. He doesn’t smell Oikawa anywhere, so maybe he’s not the one they’re actually looking for.

Endo chuckles, an annoying laugh that makes Iwaizumi want to punch him right then and there. “Got kicked out because of certain someone,” he says with a crooked grin, slapping the end of the bat over his hand. “If it weren’t for that omega cocksucker I—”

His words are cut off when Iwaizumi violently rushes in like a bullet, seizing the man’s neck as he staggers to the ground. Iwaizumi stumbles back when the other two pulled him off forcefully, each landing two heavy hits on his face.

 _Shit._ That’s when the pain starts to gush all over his cheekbone. He falters back, and he can already feel the side of his face swell. _Fucking hurts._ Maybe he should’ve thought this through. Iwaizumi drags his fingers on the cement to lift himself up, dirt and mud finding its way under his nails. He swings his elbow back as he stands back up, in an attempt to retaliate. One of the two goons lunges from the back, causing him to stagger forward, the other alpha in front of him seeing it as an opening, bare knuckles hitting his nose hard.

“F-Fuck—!” Iwaizumi coughs out, pain sharp and edged enough to make his eyes water. The impact on the center of his face makes it hard to breathe, grunting as he held a hand over his nose. He falls back down on the ground. _It fucking hurts_. He wheezes in air in short gasps, warm blood freely flowing from his nose down to his chin. His body and ego is telling him stand up and do something and even the score, but his mind is just screaming _hurts, hurts, hurts, hurts_ inside and the stinging pain is a clear indication that his brain isn’t down for retaliation. Fuck that. He’s not going to submit to a bunch of assholes.

“This motherfucker—” he hears Endo hiss out as one of his guys helps him up after being clawed down by Iwaizumi. He’s using the bat like a cane, planting it on the ground so he can get some balance. Iwaizumi’s ears are flooded with a loud pounding inside his skull when he’s propelled up by a violent pull. His surroundings spin, his consciousness ready to turn the lights off inside his head.

Iwaizumi staggers up, trips over one of his feet and falls. _Shit, shit, shit shit..._ He hears laughing before his eyes flash into a solid white. The hit on his nose greatly puts him at a disadvantage, his mind woozy and lightheaded. He squeezes his eyes shut to see if he can get his clear vision back, opening them again only to see the blurry faces of these thugs. Grunting heavily, he pushes himself up out of sheer adrenaline, bracing one hand on his knee. Iwaizumi pulls down on the closest alpha’s neck and knees his face, with the full intention of smashing his nose. But another man shoves him away, so his knee didn’t hit the alpha’s face hard enough. Just as Iwaizumi grimaces, his entire face on fire, he hears the swift sound of a bat swinging, ramming right into his stomach.

The muted thud of that baseball bat hitting the hard muscles of his body fills his ears and numbs his senses.

He ends up on his hands and knees, stunned as his lungs try to get some air, guts pulsating painfully inside his ribs. Iwaizumi squirms and gags, coughing out saliva mixing in with some blood from his mouth. Endo’s heavy foot pushes him back down, face now flat on a muddy puddle, the bottom of his shoes scratching the back of his head.

“Not the big bad wolf now, huh?”

With half of his vision impaired, he can barely see Endo’s pack from the corner of his eye. He sees a glimpse of his phone on the ground, face down on the dead grass and mud like him. Someone picks it up.

“Why don’t we send a message to Oikawa? Get him to come over to our little party,” Endo says, his tone anything but pleasant as he browses through Iwaizumi’s phone. Iwaizumi has one arm over his curdling stomach, turning his head so could glare up at Endo. He can’t get up, not with this fucking foot over his head, and two other assholes keeping him in place. “Oh, now I see,” he murmurs calmly, tapping the end of the bat next to Iwaizumi’s head threateningly. “You guys are _bonded_. That’s awesome, man. Must be nice to have your own omega to play with. Must say I’m a bit _jealous_.”

The hair on the back his neck stands up as the pack of alphas sneer. He sure as hell won’t let them do anything to Oikawa. Iwaizumi growls in anger, pushing his own body up heedlessly, roaring his frustration and fury beneath them.

“Shit, sorry,” Endo mocks him, pushing his foot down harder. “Need some help? I bet he’ll come running if we call him right now.”

“Don’t you fucking—!” Iwaizumi grunts between gritted teeth.

Endo ignores him, as he punches in a text message. He’s still typing when he calls one of the two alphas who had been pushing him down. The knee that’s been stabbing his back lifts up, sliding next to Endo who’s telling him what to do. Iwaizumi couldn’t hear them clearly, the ringing in his ears still resonating. “What should we tell him, Obuchi? Think he’ll fall for it like this idiot? We’ll have lots of fun with him around.”

Iwaizumi warns him in pained groans. He flinches when the grip locking his arms behind him tightens. Endo stares at him furiously for a long moment, then flashes him a shit-eating grin. And just when Iwaizumi thought the weight on his head has lifted, Endo stomps on him, cold dirt and grime seeping through his open cuts.

“Upset I’ll steal your fuck toy?”

Iwaizumi once read a textbook that says primitive alphas bared their sharp teeth as a sign of aggression, or as a threat – a reminder that it’s not an impossible feat for a human alpha to bite open an enemy’s throat. At that crucial moment of fury, Iwaizumi bares his teeth, feels as if fangs had drawn out from his clenched jaws. Endo must’ve sensed the cyclone of rage begging to come out, so he smacks the bat to the ground, right next to Iwaizumi’s face to tell him who has the upper hand.

“Sensitive subject, Iwaizumi-san?” Endo taunts and stomps on his head. “Afraid he’ll enjoy sucking my co—”

That’s as far as Endo gets as Iwaizumi is able to free one arm before viciously grabbing him by the ankles. He yanks him down brutally, disrupting his balance. Now with little weight on him, Iwaizumi grunts as he kicks the man behind him right in the groin, making him fall to his knees. With that moment of weakness, Iwaizumi takes it as a chance to knee the guy in the nose to return the compliment. The sound that came out from his mouth is almost non-human – growling and snarling as he treads terrifyingly towards Endo who had landed on his back.

Obuchi, one of Endo’s bootlickers, lashes at him, a jab aiming at his face. Iwaizumi catches his elbow and wrist, bending it in the wrong angle that sends up a piercing pain on the man’s arm. The lesser alpha groans and sobs in pain, having lost the feeling in his limb. An animalistic snarl claws its way out of Iwaizumi’s throat, pummeling his foot to the man’s mouth.

“Looks like it’s just us again,” Iwaizumi jeers warningly, spitting blood that had pooled inside his cheeks. He watches Endo shuffling back like a scuttling prey, reaching for the bat. Iwaizumi steps on the alpha’s hand before he could grab it, causing him to yell out an embarrassing groan. He kicks it away and cracks his knuckles. “Big bad wolves don’t use bats.”

Iwaizumi grabs him by the neck, ready to maul him to death.

“I-Iwaizumi! We were—We were just joking, man. C-Come on, I—” Iwaizumi rams him harder against the ground, fingernails deep enough to cut through his throat.

“This is your idea of a _joke_?” The red-eye glare sends Endo into hysterical breathing, the weight on his windpipe so tight it’s almost bulging his eyes out.

This guy is no alpha, Iwaizumi thinks simply. He submits just as easily as a beta or omega. It wouldn’t be challenge to kill him, and the idea of biting his throat and insides out sounds so, so tempting he might just fucking consider it.

“ _You’re_ the fucking joke,” Iwaizumi rasps angrily, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw trembles. His domineering shadow looms over Endo, eyes primal and red with rage.

Endo yells loud and long, ending abruptly when Iwaizumi punches him in the face, then again, and again and again and again, fists hitting him left and right with terrifying strength, until his swelling face is coated with blood. The sound of bones cracking and teeth breaking only fuels the fury seething like tar in his insides.

Iwaizumi finally lets go and pulls himself up to his feet, breathing heavily, shaking off the blood in his hands like he had touched something disgusting. Endo lies still like a dead man, unconscious and almost unrecognizable.

“If I see you again I will fucking kill you for real.” Endo doesn’t respond. Iwaizumi knows he probably can’t hear him anymore. He snaps his head back when he hears the others groan into consciousness. They have their hands in front of them in surrender, their yielding body language confirming their submission. Iwaizumi glares at the other two, eyes still red with adrenaline. “Get out of my sight.”

The lesser alphas nod frantically and scurry off to carry an unconscious Endo. They leave in haste, ragged footsteps gradually disappearing as the space plunges into heavy silence.

Iwaizumi chokes into a coughing fit, his own lungs failing him. The adrenaline can only get him this far, as it simmers down and the headache starts seeping through again. “Urgh--! Fuck, _ugh--_ ” he mutters between clenched teeth. He pinches the bridge of his nose, flinching when the pain from his possibly broken nose shoots back at him. He then notices how red and swollen his knuckles are, pain trickling through his bones and skin.

With a spray of dirt and dried leaves, he walks over to where Endo had dropped his phone. Iwaizumi picks up the dirty thing, relieved it’s still lighting up properly. His eyes squint at the sudden brightness. It has a huge crack on the screen now – and a new message.

 

 **oikawa**  
_090-2677-78xx_  
iwa-chan???? where are you?? it’s so late!!  
come home already!! i can’t sleep ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚  
_11:36 PM_

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Iwaizumi manages to make it back home in one piece, even though every part of his face burns like hell. He doesn’t bother knocking and unlocks the door, hoping Oikawa got tired of waiting and had fallen asleep. He’s not really in the mood to explain what happened. The door closes quietly behind him, Iwaizumi stopping a while to muster up the strength to take off his poor pair of muddy red Nikes.

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi jolts at the sudden voice. A second later, Oikawa bursts into the hallway, his smiling face enough to light up the mood. Iwaizumi forgets for a second that his body isn’t sore, that his nose isn’t wringing out all the blood from his head.

Only for a second.

“What—” He sees Oikawa’s face twist in horror. Iwaizumi closes his eyes, bracing himself. “What happened to you?!”

Oikawa runs over to catch the bloody figure standing on their doorway before it collapses. He gasps at Hajime’s beat up face, covered in bumps and grime and dried blood, a hand weakly pressed over his stomach. He looks into his red-rimmed eyes.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says in paralyzing concern, a soft hand touching his face and another on the side of his neck. Iwaizumi hears him say a couple more words, but the room is starting to spin wildly and with Oikawa’s presence he feels like he can finally let his body break down. His heavy self flops over Oikawa, who wasn’t able to carry his weight in that instance, skidding back and ends up sitting on the floor along with Hajime. “Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, oh god—”

His hands fumble frantically all over him – his bruised face, his arms, neck. Hajime only groans in pain when Oikawa hurries to take his dirty jacket off. Oikawa cradles him. He doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know where to start. Part of him wants to run to the bathroom to get medical supplies, but a part of him doesn’t want to leave Hajime on the floor. Oikawa tries to sit more upright, searching for any other wounds on his body. He ends up discovering painful splotches of red on his torso when he lifts his shirt up, cuts on his face, and a sprained nose. Hopefully it’s not ruptured.

“Iwa-chan, wake up,” Oikawa whispers in panic, voice starting to crack, trembling fingers brushing over Hajime’s face. It’d be bad if he falls asleep like this. He squishes his cheeks with his hands. “Iwa-chan, you gotta—you gotta me what to do,” he calls again and again, eyes beginning to water. “Hajime, god, come on.”

Oikawa can hear his own heart beating fast, and he could hear Hajime’s too, but it’s slow and slack compared to his. He calms his shaking hands down.

“Oikawa…”

A rush of relief flows throughout his entire body. He raises his limp head until Hajime flutters his eyes open, staring at him through a blackeye. His lids are heavy, and Oikawa sighs when he sees olive green eyes staring back at him. Oikawa rests his forehead against the alpha’s bruised one.

“Oh, thank god,” Oikawa breathes out softly against his wounded cheek, kissing him on his bleeding lips in relief. He wraps his arms around him.

Iwaizumi swallows hard and glances up, greeted by Oikawa’s worried, almost crying face. His vision is still blurry, but he can smell the thick smell of concern and the salt of tears wafting in the air. Guilt wallows up in his stomach, swimming along the bile that’s been wanting to get out of his system. He’s making Oikawa worry again.

“C’mon, let’s wash you up,” he hears Oikawa say, his voice awfully soft and tender. He speaks a bit more, about his wounds getting infected if they don’t clean them, Iwaizumi’s not sure. With a grunt, Oikawa hoists himself up, letting Iwaizumi’s arms drape over his shoulders. “Ah, shit, you’re so heavy—!”

The unsteady weight lessens, and Oikawa thinks Hajime might be trying to walk on his own. He circles an arm around Hajime’s waist to help him. But Hajime keeps falling to his knees, and Oikawa is doing his best to keep themselves from dropping on the wooden floors. The trip to the bathroom was a struggle. Once inside, Oikawa lets himself be weighed down by Hajime until they flopped down on the tiled floor.

Breathing hard, he sits Hajime up, resting the injured alpha by the base of their sink counter. “Okay, I got this, right, you’re fine, I’m fine—” Oikawa babbles nervously as he rummages their bathroom cabinets for medical supplies – antibiotics, disinfectants, bandages, anything he can find. He fills up a basin with warm water from the sink, then drops down again to clean the dirt off of Hajime. “Don’t worry, Iwa-chan. Nurse Tooru will fix you right up.”

His newfound confidence made Hajime laugh out loud despite his lightheadedness. And it made his ribs hurt, too. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” he asks breathily, doubting the young man’s first aid skills.

Oikawa pouts. “Are you gonna continue insulting my medical prowess or are you gonna tell me what happened?”

“Endo,” Hajime blurts out. He turns his head forward to look at Oikawa, whose expression had changed, his hands stopping. “That asswipe ambushed me in campus. Brought his alpha friends along.”

Oikawa is quiet when he hears the name, pursing his lips. The silence brings some sort of uneasiness and guilt in him. After cleaning Hajime’s worst cuts with a washcloth, Oikawa pulls up some cotton balls and dips them in disinfectant.

“Well,” he starts, leaning in to carefully dab the cotton on Hajime’s open cuts. His other hand caresses his cheek in place. Despite his strength when it comes to volleyball, Iwaizumi had always thought Oikawa had light hands. Graceful. Tender. He can fall asleep with him just swabbing cotton balls on his face honestly. “Did you win?”

Hajime’s lips curve into a weak grin, keeping his eyes closed as he lolls his head back. The disinfectant stings a little, but it’s nothing compared to the blinding pain all over his upper body. “That’s what you’re worried about? Of course I won.”

Oikawa smiles. It’s not very hard to picture Hajime winning against a pack of alphas. He hums in fake disbelief and continues cleaning his alpha’s wounds. “Hm. You might just be saying that to impress me.”

Hajime grabs his wrist suddenly, letting the cotton ball drop on the tiles. Oikawa widens his eyes at him, lips parting. Hajime opens his eyes this time. “They wanted to hurt you,” he tells him, voice stern and serious. “You think I’d let them go without breaking their teeth?”

His brown glassy eyes blink several times before his lips curve into a modest smile – the smile Iwaizumi likes the best, where his eyes would squint a little, mouth curling into a charming bow, dimples flushed in pink. Oikawa gets a new cotton ball to clean his wounds with, pretending the butterflies aren’t causing an uproar in his insides. But before grabbing the disinfectant, he leans in, tilting his head to claim a soft, fleeting kiss. A kiss of gratitude.

“Speaking of teeth,” Oikawa says as soon as he draws back a little, still close enough to see the streaks of green in his irises beautifully bleeding into gray. “I think you lost one back there.”

Hajime blinks. “What? No way.”

Oikawa chuckles at Hajime’s disbelief. “Open your mouth,” he says, and Hajime complies. There’s still blood staining his teeth, then he sees a gap, where a molar should be. “I’m not a dentist but it doesn’t look bad. Let’s put a cotton in for now.”

“Ow,” Hajime snarls when he pushes a cotton between his teeth.

“It could've been your front tooth. That would be so funny.” Oikawa chuckles at his own joke, while Hajime did the opposite.

“You’re such a piece of shit,” Hajime mutters. His nurse murmurs a soft hum in agreement, wiping his hair with the wet towel, mopping off the dirt that had gotten stuck in his spikes. Hajime flinches when Oikawa grazes a swollen area on the side of his forehead.

“Sorry,” he says, brows creasing in worry. “Does it hurt?”

Hajime swallows thickly, bending his legs up a bit and throwing his head back. “Hurts more than I thought it would,” he replies, his voice raspy, barely audible if it weren’t for the small space and the chaste silence that came with it. “Do we still have Loxonin?”

“I’ll check later.” Oikawa looks down at Hajime’s hand. His knuckles had doubled in size, joints swelling. Just looking at it makes Oikawa squeamish. It must be so painful. Hajime definitely threw in more than one punch. Maybe ten. Maybe twenty.

“I can’t believe it,” Oikawa says, freeing up his hands to help take off Hajime’s grimy shirt. “My Iwa-chan fighting off a pack of alphas for me.” He reaches to curl a hand over his bare shoulder, another by his neck. Oikawa breathes against Hajime’s mouth when he’s near enough, crawling closer to plant a teasing kiss on the other’s bruised lips before moving onto the cut on the corner of his mouth, then to his banged up cheekbones.

“It kinda turns me on.”

Iwaizumi’s pulse picks up in an instant, just like it always does around Oikawa. He spits out the bloody cotton from his mouth and crashes his cut lips onto Oikawa’s. It’s hard, and wet, and ridiculously painful. Hajime grabs him by the back of his neck, trying to get him closer. Oikawa goes and mounts him in return, careful not to hit any bruise. He sucks on Hajime’s busted lip, the newfound pressure causing it to bleed again. It tastes like sangria, rimmed with salt. Oikawa tilts his head to deepen the kiss, his nose hitting Hajime’s ruptured one. Hajime winces in pain at the contact, groaning, warily pushing Oikawa away.

“Sorry,” Iwaizumi says softly in that short moment of seriousness. He cups the bridge of his nose when it starts to throb in pain again, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, resting his forehead on Oikawa’s shoulders.

Oikawa purses his lips in guilt, eyes dipping down. He sounds so tired. Cupping Hajime’s face gently into his hands, his worried brown eyes scan over every bruise on his face. He leans down to kiss him again on the lips, more lovingly this time, making sure he won’t brush against the nose injury this time.

But Hajime flinches in pain, still. Oikawa thinks it might be better to stop. “I should be the one apologizing.” With sad eyes, Oikawa stares back at Hajime’s bloodshot ones. “We should go to the hospital.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head weakly and lets out an exhausted sigh. He doesn’t feel like leaving the house right now. “No need,” he says simply, resting his head on Oikawa’s shoulder. He hears soft okay’s from the omega, feeling tender, lazy hands running through his hair.

His body relaxes against Oikawa’s scent and warmth, his touch, his presence. Iwaizumi licks the patches of skin closest to his lips, a slack attempt to scent mark him. It tastes like Oikawa, and a bit like coffee, giving him that needed small shot of caffeine in his veins. He hovers on his exposed skin, marking every inch. It’s unusually possessive. Weary arms snake around Oikawa’s waist, keeping him close, clinging stubbornly to the omega.

Oikawa is like medicine to him already, perfecting whatever’s missing in his biochemistry.

“Just stay like this.”

A sad smile crosses over Oikawa’s face. He doesn’t feel the need to say anything, and simply cradles Hajime in his arms until all the pain in his body is gone.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

It’s a dark night in February when Iwaizumi hears voices from the other side of corridor. It’s familiar, the tall windows to the left leaving enough moonlight for Iwaizumi to see. It’s unusually warm, sweat dribbling down from his temples despite the winter chill. The muted voices laugh incessantly from somewhere. His footsteps are light and quiet, so he won’t disrupt any classes.

Iwaizumi coughs, finding that he can’t breathe properly somehow. He draws in a slow wheeze, to get some oxygen into his lungs. He sucks in a breath through his mouth instead. The snickering voices down the hall doesn’t stop, and Iwaizumi doesn’t stop walking until he is right in front of the door. The voices are indistinct and he can’t quite make out who they belong to, but the laughing noise mixes in with something else, sobbing, crying, probably. Maybe it’s a ghost. He’s not sure. That’s until he takes a whiff – an ugly scent floating in the air. Horrible. Nauseating.

He opens the door and takes in the scene before him. Their laughs tear through the room like church bells. Iwaizumi steps closer into the dim room, eyes wide when they land on the figure seemingly dead on the ground, surrounded by the laughing men. There’s red, just red – red in the ceiling, red on the walls. It’s anger that’s hazing his eyes. Someone’s calling for him, a voice so strained and tormented that it slams his ears with a painful thunder, sending rage and guilt through his spine.

“ _Iwa—chan_ —”

Iwaizumi opens his eyes.

The ceiling of their bedroom appears black in the dark.

His own breathing slaps him back into reality, wheezing and yanking him up from the steady comfort of his bed. The first thing Iwaizumi looks for is Oikawa, who is sleeping peacefully next to him, clinging to his waist. The dreads of his dream are taking their sweet time to leave, and he releases a heavy sigh to get rid of them. He drags his hands to his face, before flinching in pain, forgetting his own injuries for a moment. A strangled groan burns from his lungs when he raises his palms in front of him. They’re shaking with anger, blending in with some sort of greed that pulsed viciously through his veins.

Iwaizumi swallows, feeling a dry lump blocking his throat. Feeling absolutely parched and restless, Iwaizumi slowly slides off from the bed, careful not to wake Oikawa, who seems to be having a good dream unlike him, a peaceful smile plastered on his face.

“Shit,” he mutters, walking to the kitchen to grab a glass of water.

The atmosphere of their apartment is the same – the smell of mint detergent, green apple soap, and Oikawa’s omnipresent tangy scent mixing in together. It’s dark and the clock ticking is the only sound that’s mincing through the silence. The carpet muffles his footsteps when he heads to the couch. He doesn’t feel like sleeping anymore, especially since the painkillers had long subsided and his sprained nose is keeping him from breathing normally.

It’s half past three in the morning when he decides to turn on the television. Maybe it would help calm his nerves down. The boiling pain of feral possessiveness slowly dissipates as he mindlessly wanders through the channels.

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi whips his head towards the voice.

“What are you doing?” Oikawa asks, but it sounds more like a whine. He’s rubbing his eyes and is carrying a pillow when he angrily stomps to where Iwaizumi sat. He flops down on the sofa wordlessly, accidentally hitting Iwaizumi’s bandaged nose with the pillow, earning him a pained yelp and an angry “you little shit” from the alpha.

Oikawa fluffs the pillow on his lap and drops his head on it, bending his knees up to fit his long legs into what was left of the sofa. Although Iwaizumi's deep anger hasn't subsided yet, he finds running his hands through Oikawa's hair quite therapeutic.

"Are you mad at me?" Oikawa asks, sleep still evident in his voice.

"No. Just a bad dream," Iwaizumi replies in a second. He doesn't want Oikawa to think his anger is directed at him. But Oikawa could probably smell the rage lingering in the air, taking semi-permanent residence in the pit of his stomach.

"What was it about?" he asks drowsily.

Iwaizumi doesn't reply this time. But Oikawa doesn't pry into it anymore, falling asleep moments later onto Hajime's lap. Iwaizumi picks up the remote and lowers the volume, deciding he likes listening to Oikawa's breathing more than the late-night shows airing on television.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Their final exams for the fall semester fell on the a cold week in March – just a few days before spring break.

It’s during these times when the library is packed, and Iwaizumi had to put his backpack on the chair across him so no one would sit next to him. He’s already done with all of his exams, only waiting for Oikawa so they can go home together.

He can’t wait to go back home in Sendai. He thinks his hometown’s springs are better than Tokyo – or any other city. Then again, he hasn’t been to a lot of cities. It’d be nice to travel once his studies are done, though. Spring in Miyagi is the perfect blend of white and blue and pink, with wide cherry blossom groves, pale pink trees lining up the roads, painting the riverbanks into a completely different color. Even after all these years, he’ll never get tired of seeing his home city bloom.

Iwaizumi checks his phone when it vibrates, frowning at the grotesque crack across the tempered glass. He really needs to get his screen fixed.

 

 **oikawa**  
_090-2677-78xx_  
done with biophsyics!!  
freedom at last! ｡ﾟ(TヮT)ﾟ｡  
_02:31 PM_

 

Oikawa must be on his way already. They had agreed to meet up at the library despite not having to do any more studying. Iwazumi had grown fond of the place – it’s quiet and clean, so Oikawa is forced to lay low. It’s the only place that can put such limits on Oikawa Tooru. Much to Iwaizumi’s low expectations, Oikawa arrives at their usual table a quarter before three, which is suspicious at the very least. He’s always late when it comes to these things.

Lately, he isn’t, though.

“Iwa-chan!” he yells out by reflex, causing a few people to stare. He covers his mouth like a child caught saying a bad word just as Iwaizumi catches sight of him. He finds himself laughing silently, and at the same time wanting to stab himself because he thinks Oikawa wearing his favorite dark blue parka is adorable.

“I was ready to gouge my eyes out!” Oikawa yells (but in whispers). He lets out an exhausted sigh, letting his shoulders sag. Groaning in relief, he sits across Iwaizumi, removing the backpack from the chair and giving it back to Hajime. “Thank god finals are over,” he mutters, bending down to sprawl his arms all over the table. “Biosphysics was such a pain in the ass.”

“You love Biophysics,” Iwaizumi says, resting his chin on one hand.

Oikawa puffs his cheeks. “Yeah, but I don’t like exams about it.”

Big brown eyes flick up to meet Iwaizumi’s. Oikawa shifts from his position to sit up, to stare at Hajime. He blinks, gaze zeroing in on the bruise on his temple, then on the bandage plastered across his nasal bridge. Carefully, he raises his hand to brush a gentle thumb on the gauze. Hajime doesn’t flinch anymore.

It takes ten seconds for him to notice Oikawa’s curious eyes.

“What are you—”

“Your nose is healing up pretty nicely,” Oikawa cuts in, mustering up a tiny smile before pulling back. “I hope it heals up before we go home in April. Your mom’s going to be so pissed.”

If Iwaizumi had known better, Oikawa is probably blaming himself on what happened with Endo, but with that expression, it seems like he’s simply glad he's healing up, pure relief sprawled all over his features.

“I’ll just tell her you sucker-punched me in the face.”

“She won’t believe it,” Oikawa says with a confident smile, tilting his head to the side. His earnest gaze dances over his face. “I love Iwa-chan too much to do that.”

Hajime’s expression melts in an instant and looks away. Oikawa just smiles.

“Coach Inoue was so mad at you. You weren’t able to play in our match against Waseda,” he adds with a soft laugh.

Iwaizumi grins back. “We still won, so it’s fine.”

“It’s no fun without you—!” Oikawa drones with his usual whiny voice. He can’t help but wrinkle his nose and pout at his disappointment. “It was our last game for the semester, too!”

“Are you an idiot? Did you want me to play with a broken nose?” Iwaizumi lifts one hand and absently tucks a tuft of brown hair away from his eyes. He sees Oikawa pout again before biting his lip guiltily. The other man looks away and lets out a small ‘no’. “I’ll play in our next game,” he assures him, hoping by then his injuries would have improved. There’s still some pain in his lower rib, but day by day the discomfort seems to lessen. “By the way, I have something to show you.”

Oikawa pauses with a curious look, wordlessly watching Hajime fish a hand inside his backpack. His heart will never ever be ready for Hajime’s surprises. He pulls out two pieces of paper. It still smells like ink from the library, as if it’s newly printed, Oikawa can tell. He would have never smelled it if he was still a beta.

Hajime slides the mysterious object across the table.

Blinking, Oikawa unfolds it, eyebrows knitting. He stares at it for a good solid minute before looking back at Hajime with huge eyes.

“You already got tickets to Sendai!” Oikawa says a little too loudly, a few heads turning at him. A huge smile stretches his face. “It’s for the bullet train, too! I’ve always wanted to ride that thing!”

“Well, we took the local train last time and you wouldn’t shut up for seven hours,” Iwaizumi tells him, crossing his arms. He scowls at the memory. “With this, I’ll only have to endure you for _two_ hours.”

Oikawa pouts at him for a quick second before looking down on the paper for the second time. “It’s three days from now,” he whispers. Oikawa releases a breath of both awe and disbelief, reading the contents again to make sure he had seen the dates right. “I thought we’re supposed to go next month?”

Iwaizumi rubs the back of his neck sheepishly, looking down. “You keep telling me how much you wanted to go back home.” He shrugs his shoulders. “Sooner the better, right?”

If it weren’t for the table between them, Oikawa would’ve thrown his arms around Hajime. “This is—Whoa, this is really _expensive_ ,” he comments, adding up the prices of two tickets in his head. He doesn’t remember giving Hajime money, or splitting the costs. He whips his head up to blink at Hajime with sparkling eyes.

“I had extra money from my part-time job.” Iwaizumi smiles warmly, failing to restrain it when Oikawa is looking at him like that. “It’d be nice to go home in the lap of luxury for once.”

Iwaizumi should’ve known tables won’t be able to stop Oikawa from flinging himself forward to hug him, throwing his arms around his neck, fists crumpling the pieces of paper. There are people staring at them now, but Iwaizumi neither cared nor paid attention, wrapping his arms around Oikawa’s back just as tightly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mannn sorry i suck at writing sexytimes u know i am a vanilla af
> 
> I was really supposed to end it here, but it's now up to 40k words so I'll give it another chapter, make the number even ya know  
> I'll update this week because I'm like 95.17% done with the last chap  
> chapter 6 is the last one i promise!!!!
> 
> thanks for the comments and kudos and everything ya'll dope as hell!!!!
> 
> (ao3 is being a cunt and wont let me post through html, let yo boy know if there are formatting problems)
> 
> holla at yo boy here: [twitter](https://twitter.com/dahliadenoire) or [tumblr](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/)


	6. Fool For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part VI — [FOOL FOR YOU by Zayn](https://open.spotify.com/track/6lvsJDZ7336YmpBzcNGhbe)

The bullet train is everything Oikawa had imagined it to be. Unlike the monorails and subways, their ride to Sendai can only be described as smooth and quiet - no bumps, no noisy tracks, his long legs able to stretch out in front of him because of the fantastic legroom. The seats are arranged in two columns, two seats on the left, three on the right, making room for a wide aisle in the middle. It's like he’s on a plane, and he's almost disappointed it’ll only take two hours to reach their stop, tempted to stay a bit longer because the chairs are so darn comfortable. His heart beats in excitement. It might be the same feeling as riding a gondola, or riding first-class on an airplane, or those cool-looking trams overseas.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 25s  
going back home for spring vacation! #shinkansen

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 1m  
i miss iwachan  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 37s  
**@to_ru_oikawa** i’m right beside u what the fuck are you talking about

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 1m  
sometimes i still hear his voice  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 19s  
**@to_ru_oikawa** fuck you

 

Iwaizumi turns to his left, narrowing his eyes at Oikawa who had flopped lazily on his seat, his body slipping down like jelly, a smiling face buried in his phone. It’s their first time riding the bullet train, and Iwaizumi can definitely feel the awe and utter giddiness in Oikawa’s energy. He’s quiet for the most part, which Iwaizumi is thankful for, honestly, but he is way too quiet it’s starting to make him worry a little.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 3m  
iwachan hey

 

"What?" Iwaizumi responds as soon as he sees the simple tweet floating in his timeline, his voice monotonous. He's only answered by the loud typewriter sound effects of Oikawa's phone.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 2m  
**@iwai1996** IWACHAAAAAAAN!!!!

 

“What the fuck do you want?” Iwaizumi snaps back warningly, turning to his side to look at Oikawa. Oikawa ignores him like he’s not even there, face entirely blank. Iwaizumi groans in annoyance.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 2m  
IWACHAN IWACHAN IWACHANNN!!!!!!! **@iwai1996 @iwai1996 @iwai1996**  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 27s  
**@to_ru_oikawa** WHAT  
|  
**及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 12s  
**@iwai1996** i’m hungry

 

“There’s milk bread in my bag,” Iwaizumi replies out loud, glaring at his screen. Oikawa still pretends he is fucking air.

 

 **岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 8m  
**@to_ru_oikawa** are you goddamn deaf there’s milk bread in my bag  
|  
**及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 6m  
**@iwai1996** i cant find it which bag  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 3m  
**@to_ru_oikawa** the blue one in the overhead rack

 

Oikawa makes a loud sound when he stands up to check the rack. Not a minute later, he throws himself back on his seat, now holding two packs of milk bread.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 1m  
**@iwai1996** iwachan!! did u really just pack five packs of milk bread???  
|  
**及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 18s  
**@iwai1996** by the way, u still owe me 987 (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧

 

Green eyes flicker down to his hands. It seems like Oikawa is having a hard time opening the plastic packet.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 24s  
hey **@iwai1996** open it for me

 

His eyebrows twitch in annoyance.

Wordlessly, he snatches the packet from Oikawa’s hands and rips it open.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 2m  
**@iwai1996** thanks! want some?  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 2m  
**@to_ru_oikawa** i dont like milkbread  
|  
**及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 1m  
**@iwai1996** u dont like anything  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 1m  
**@to_ru_oikawa** i like tofu and gyoza  
|  
**及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 52s  
**@iwai1996** and me, right???

 

Iwaizumi forgets to reply to Oikawa’s last tweet, too busy figuring out how he can get Oikawa to stop tweeting to him or at least make him talk like a normal person. Tactfully, he looks around and catches a glimpse of three girls seated on their right, talking in hushed voices. They’re eyeing Oikawa, most likely mistaking him for some celebrity, causing Iwaizumi to do a double-take and examine the young man beside him.

He’s dressed up way too fashionably, Iwaizumi thinks. Before leaving the apartment, he had asked him why he’s wearing such a flashy outfit – with that yellow desert camo bomber jacket, ripped jeans, pink sunset glasses, and a pair of bright yellow Reeboks with a New York themed graffiti on it. The overdressed man only retorted that “Iwa-chan wouldn’t understand _fashion_ ” and that he wanted to be like “those Korean pop stars when paparazzi ambushes them at the airport.”

Oikawa can definitely pull off flamboyant clothes, but he’s pretty sure those girls aren’t looking at his outfit.

It irks him, kind of, the brief spasm of possessiveness giving him an idea.

“Oikawa,” he calls out, but the young man continues to ignore him. But he did react when Iwaizumi wraps an arm over his shoulders, and just as Oikawa is about to turn his head around to look at him, Iwaizumi steals a deep kiss – harsh lips pressing against the other’s mouth, parted in shock. His annoyance bleeds into the kiss, hard and bruising while Oikawa is frozen in place. Iwaizumi pulls back along with a loud smack of their lips separating, then looks out the window like nothing happened.

From the corner of his eye, he can see the girls aren’t looking at them anymore. He also sees Oikawa’s entire cheeks grow red, eyes wide, his trendy pink sunglasses crooked and misaligned against his face.

Iwaizumi smiles in satisfaction, arms folded over his chest.

 

 **及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 5m  
**@iwai1996** what the fuck was that iwachan!!! i hate you!!  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 5m  
**@to_ru_oikawa** no you dont  
|  
**及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 5m  
**@iwai1996** i may have loved u before but i hate you now!!  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 4m  
**@to_ru_oikawa** stop ignoring me and talk normally then!  
|  
**及川徹** @to_ru_oikawa · 4m  
**@iwai1996** u told me i talk too much during train rides!!  
im just shutting up like u want me to!!!!!  
|  
**岩泉一** @iwai1996 · 3m  
**@to_ru_oikawa**  ha?? when did u ever listen to me?? I never wanted u to shut up!  
|  
**松川一静** @matsukawa_issei · 3m  
**@to_ru_oikawa @iwai1996** keep this shit in your dms pls thanks  
|  
**花巻貴大** @_hana_taka · 3m  
**@to_ru_oikawa @iwai1996 @matsukawa_issei** they are so fucking gross  
|  
**松川一静** @matsukawa_issei · 2m  
**@to_ru_oikawa @iwai1996 @_hana_taka** absolutely disgusting

 

He’s thankful Matsukawa and Hanamaki had butted in, so now Oikawa’s too busy replying to them instead. His phone can finally rest from the frequent notifications, although it really doesn’t stop there, since a lot of people (mostly Oikawa’s followers) keeps on ‘liking’ their conversations. Iwaizumi mutes his phone. For a long moment, it’s just the soft whirring of the train and Oikawa’s furious typing that washes over the air.

Glancing to his side, Iwaizumi frowns. When did Oikawa ever shut up like he told him to? Hesitantly, he reaches for his phone again. Just like what Matsukawa had suggested, Iwaizumi goes ahead and sends Oikawa a private message.

 

 **←** **及川徹**  
    @to_ru_oikawa

                  i like listening to your voice

                     talk as much as you want

                                                            22s

 

It’s quiet for at least a minute or two. The lovely tangerine scent of Oikawa rouses his senses when the young man shuffles in his seat, feeling a sudden weight on his shoulder. Oikawa’s fluffy hair tickles his neck when he rests his head on him, now humming an unfamiliar tune. Iwaizumi side-eyes him. He’s holding his phone close to his chewing face, milk bread on one hand.

“I hope the cherry blossoms bloom early."

Iwaizumi looks at Oikawa. There’s a light blush creeping across his face, crowning a small but genuine smile that lights up his brown eyes all the same. He bends his head sideways to put a little weight on top of the other's head.

“Yeah.”

Over the horizon, Iwaizumi sees the sun rising, slowly but surely, speckling the trees in a light golden hue. He smiles absently and enjoys the ride with the constant sound of Oikawa’s voice, watching the Japanese countryside stream by outside the window.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

 

It’s almost nine o’clock when Iwaizumi stops in front of his home.

The modern house burrows into the upward slope of Sendai’s many residential areas, and among the various buildings distributed over thick trees, it’s one of the relatively large structures. It used to be a small traditional house before his father had it renovated, so one can still tell from its current design that it has a rustic majesty of its own.

The front door swings open before they had a chance to knock.

“Tooru!” the woman standing on the door greets with immense excitement. She pulls Oikawa into a warm embrace that’s way too tight, as Hajime’s mother has quite the strength when it comes to hugs.

“Auntie! I missed you so much!” Oikawa greets back and wraps his arms around the small figure. “You are looking stunning, as always,” he adds, earning him a giggle and a soft slap on the shoulder.

“I’m right here by the way,” Iwaizumi states bluntly, dragging in both of their suitcases from outside the front gate and up the small steps. “Don’t need help at all.”

“Oh, quit sulking and get over here!” she tells him. Iwaizumi lets go of the luggage for a minute. He shakes his head with a boyish grin and presses against Oikawa’s back, an arm around his mother’s shoulders, basically sandwiching Oikawa between them. He dips down to kiss her on the temple before drawing back.

“Oh, mom, by the way, did you—”

She gasps out loud, only now seeing the bandages and wounds on Hajime’s face.

“Hajime!” Her hands are on her hips now. They say an omega mother’s wrath can be felt all over hell’s half acre and Iwaizumi agrees wholeheartedly. Iwaizumi answers with a “what?” and an annoyed scowl. Her loud, angry voice rips through the morning calm as she smacks him hard on the arm. “Your face! What on earth happened? I swear, Hajime! You’re always getting into trouble! Did you get this checked in the hospital? Good lord.”

“I did. It’s no big deal—ow! Shit, don’t squeeze my nose like that!”

“Don’t make me shove soap in your mouth, Hajime,” she warns, both hands cupping Hajime’s face, tilting her son’s head to side to side to check on his bruises. It’s almost adorable how she has to stand on her tiptoes to reach Hajime’s cheeks.

Oikawa bites his lip to stop a laugh, thinking it might be best to interfere before Hajime’s mother’s blood pressure rises. “Auntie, it’s my fault. I sucker-punched him in the face,” he says jokingly, then flashes a knowing grin at Hajime.

She glances back up at Oikawa to tell him how much she doesn’t believe in him. But she’s no fool, however, and had noticed the trace of sadness in his brown eyes a second after, crawling along the sour scent of a guilty conscience. Her mouth falls open a little in realization.

Her anger quickly simmers down. “If it’s Tooru then it’s fine.”

Hajime’s frown deepens even more, nursing his cheek. His eyes are wide in disbelief, “Are you serious?” Oikawa almost thinks it’s funny. He silently shakes his head at Hajime, telling him to let the subject go.

She lets out a big sigh when she ushers them inside, rubbing her arms with her hands, a smile finding its way back to her dewy face. “Now, come on inside, you two! It’s freezing out here!” They let themselves in, leaving behind the cold spring air.

Oikawa glances around the foyer. It’s the same as the years before. He had often visited Hajime’s house ever since he was little, and so far the interior never changes. He slips off his blindingly yellow shoes before stepping foot on the creaky wooden floors, Hajime doing the same behind him.

“Goodness, look at you, Tooru! You look like those young men in the late night dramas! How was the ride? I heard from Hajime you rode the bullet train! How was it? Was it fun? Have you eaten? Oh, I haven’t cooked yet. How embarrassing! Are you boys hungry? That Hajime, didn’t even tell me you’ll arrive this early!” Iwaizumi’s mother bombards him with questions, never letting Oikawa respond properly. She grabs an arm, steering Oikawa away from the cold entrance that’s still misty with the early morning draft.

“Uh, it’s fine. I’m not hungry, Auntie,” Oikawa replies, shaking his hands.

“That’s no good, Tooru, you have to eat more. Look how thin you’re getting! Are you even eating right?” she asks, tugging on the fat on his cheeks. Oikawa never gets the chance to answer her questions as she continues on, this time with a softer voice. “How are you holding up? Your mother told me— _Hajime_! _Good grief! What are you still doing there? Take Tooru’s luggage upstairs!_ —Your mother told me everything. We were so worried! I hope Hajime is treating your better these days. Ah, that kid. I hope he isn't doing anything stupid.”

Iwaizumi Risa stares back at him with a tight lip and worried eyes, and Oikawa thinks how Hajime might’ve gotten the hazel in his eyes from her. “I’m—I’m fine, Auntie. I promise,” he says. He misses her overall frank nature, never afraid to ask the important questions. “I’m still kinda getting used to it.” Oikawa rubs his nape, eyes dipped down shyly. “Iwa-chan has been taking good care of me.”

She smiles at him before releasing a loud sigh. “I know he may come across as harsh at times, but he’s a sweet kid.” Oikawa couldn’t agree more, a dainty smile curving his lips. “But if he mistreats you, tell me _immediately_ and I will smack that kid upside the head!”

“Will do, Auntie.” A soft laugh flies out of him before she pulls him into a short hug.

“Does your mom know you’re here?” she asks, walking to the nearby coffee table to clean up the small mess that had gathered. Oikawa follows her, thinking he might be able to help her with tidying up the place.

“Uh, not yet. I told her I’ll arrive around April, but Hajime bought tickets early. I kinda wanted to surprise her.”

The woman clicks her tongue several times, shaking her head. “I thought so,” she says. “You know your folks won’t be home until next Sunday, right?”

“Huh?” Oikawa blinks, his eyes widening shortly after. “No way! Mom didn’t say anything about that!”

Her smile fades a little. “They’re out on a trip in Osaka with Takeru,” she tells him, tucking a piece of her jet black hair behind her ear and starts looking for her phone. “I’ll call Yuuko-chan and tell her you’re here!”

Oikawa shakes his head. “No, Auntie, there’s no need! I don’t want them to rush home or anything.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he replies with a small chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Knowing them, they might try to book a flight tomorrow. I’ll just stay here for a while, if that’s okay?”

Iwaizumi’s mother scoffs, as if offended. “Of course you can stay here!” She claps her hand excitedly. “You’re practically my son now!”

Oikawa blushes furiously, feeling his ears burning. He bows his head down in embarrassment, opening his mouth to say something, but was cut off.

“Why don’t you head upstairs and rest?” She says suddenly with a clap. She places a gentle hand on Oikawa’s arm, squeezing it lightly. “I’ll head on over to Konishi-san’s to buy some tofu, get you boys something to eat for breakfast.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

There’s always an odd shape of sunlight in Hajime’s room whenever the sun rises. His windows face the east, offering a lovely view of the sky and the promenade of zelkova trees, as their neighborhood is quite near the city center. Hajime always leaves it open a fraction, to let cool air in along with the sun’s warm light.

Oikawa sits comfortably on the edge of the bed, running his palms over the sheets. He takes a deep breath through his nose. Hajime’s room smells like him, even if he hasn’t stayed there for almost a year. For the first time, he can smell the exquisite note in the air that he had never noticed before, something along the lines of clean laundry left outside in the sun to dry. There’s the smell of their childhood, delicate memories – the smell of old essays and books, rubber from an old volleyball in one corner, the decade-old dust in his twin-sized bed. It’s all very _Hajime_ -like, and just like the alpha himself, his room smooths out the edges of Oikawa’s unease.

“Ah—I wanna sleep!”

He hears Hajime yawn when he walks in, stretching his arms up. Daybreak’s light cascades across his face when he flops down on the bed, resting his head on Oikawa’s lap.

“We should just exchange moms,” Oikawa says, instinctively reaching out to stroke a palm over Hajime’s forehead, brushing it up to his hair. Hajime only blinks at him. “My mom likes you better. Your mom _obviously_ loves me more.”

Hajime scoffs. “Is an exchange still necessary?” he asks, involuntarily closing his eyes to Oikawa’s touch, a smile replacing his ever-present frown. “Mom called you her son already.”

The warmth the spreads across Oikawa’s face made his cheeks glow pink. “You heard that?”

“Yeah.”

The early sun paints the softness of Oikawa's features just right. His face is so different from when he plays in matches, or when he interacts with other people. Oikawa's right there. The Great King. The Ruler of the Court. Iwaizumi wonders how long he'll be able to monopolize Oikawa like this. When he's in the national team, or traveling the world as a professional player, or flying out to space, Iwaizumi will make sure to find a way back to him. Maybe being his alpha had made him a little selfish, wishing furiously that no one else in the world can see Oikawa in his most tender state.

"I got a letter from Suntory Sunbirds," Oikawa says, chafing his hands along Iwaizumi's hair. "You saw it, didn't you?"

Iwaizumi cranes his head up, impressed. "Ah. Did you read my mind or something?"

Oikawa hums an affirmative. He must've caught the twitch in Iwaizumi's eyes. "It's based in Osaka, so I'm looking forward to it," he says, his voice hinting for Hajime to do something about it. "Even though my body is telling me to stay in our little apartment and wring Iwa-chan dry." His fringes tickles when Oikawa bends down to rest his forehead against Iwaizumi's. "Honestly, living with you made me so selfish."

"As if you aren't already." Iwazumi raises his hands with a huff, gently pulling the other closer. Oikawa's face is upside down from his own, his top lip chafing against the bottom lip wonderfully. Oikawa draws back to take a breath. "I'm the one who wants to lock you up."

Oikawa puffs out a chuckle, his laugh streaming like sunshine. "Ooh, that's a very alpha thing to say, Iwa-chan." He rests both his hands along Hajime's cheeks lightly. "But I wouldn't mind." Oikawa plants a chaste kiss on his forehead. "I wouldn't mind at all."

Oikawa lightly brushes along the gash that had darkened along Hajime’s temples, making sure his fingers aren’t pressing on it hard enough to hurt. But Hajime grabs the back of his wrist before he could fall asleep to the touch. It took him by surprise when he feels the warm tingle of Hajime’s tongue sliding against his pulse.

“Iwa-chan, that’s gross,” he comments with a chuckle. But Oikawa doesn’t bother moving his hand away, letting Hajime playfully nip at the skin on his wrist, scenting him right where his pulse beats, biting on the soft part between his thumb and index finger.

He doesn’t think suspiciously of the gesture – that is until Hajime abruptly sits up, leaving Oikawa speechless for a moment before pushing him against the back corner of the bed. Hajime hovers over his curled up body, pressing his lips to Oikawa’s. Oikawa accepts the languid kiss, and actually tries really hard not to melt into it so easily.

“So, where do we do it? Your room or mine?” he asks, his tone hinting at a suggestive afterthought. Wrapping his arms around his neck, Oikawa allows the alpha to pull away.

“Isn’t it weird either way?” Hajime says, before skimming his lips along the other’s mouth.

Oikawa laughs, and smiles against the other’s lazy kisses.

“Both it is, then.”

In a heartbeat, Hajime goes and pushes Oikawa further into the corner. The merry chirping of the birds outside disappears, the smacking of their lips filling the lazy silence. Long fingers slides up to Hajime’s neck. They dig softly into his skin, dragging up through his hair.

Oikawa hesitates briefly, a flutter of nervousness running into him. What are they thinking doing that in a place like this? He steers his head away from Hajime.

“Iwa-chan, wait,” he murmurs as they break apart, lids heavy. Hajime’s scent grows stronger with each breath, and that’s not really a good sign. “Auntie might come back soon.”

“That tofu shop is far from here,” Hajime assures him, grunting impatiently. He shifts slightly on his knees, locking Oikawa in place. Reaching around Oikawa’s waist, he tugs him closer, the other not having a choice but to wrap his legs around him.

“You alphas are so stubborn,” Oikawa says, rearing back to settle between the edge of the wall and Hajime.

“Don’t act as if I’m the only one who wants it,” he retorts, his forehead touching his. Oikawa narrows his eyes at him, letting out a displeased sound. Hajime’s not wrong, because just as he had implied, Oikawa’s restraint is melting away fast, and if it weren’t for their current setting he’d have begged Hajime to take him on the spot.

There’s nothing coy about how Hajime rushes in – his kisses are always messy and firm and impatient. But Oikawa is more than happy to reciprocate, as always, like a well-behaved omega, mouth open and eyes shut.

For a moment, he cracks one eye open, his vision catching the poster of the 1998 Godzilla movie on the wall. They had watched the VHS together back in grade school, reminding himself that this man kissing him silly is his childhood best friend – the same boy that takes him to the riverbank every afternoon, the same one who watched him grow up from kindergarten to high school, who held his hand when he cried, the same kid who liked playing with dirt and catching beetles in summer.

How could he feel so comfortable, but so, so awkward around Hajime?

“Wait, wait, wait…!” Oikawa yells out, hilariously pushing Hajime’s face away. “Iwa-chan, wait!”

Hungry green eyes carefully watch him, brows wrinkled in sheer annoyance. “What now?”

Oikawa’s hands leave a warm mark on Iwaizumi’s skin when he covered his own blushing face with them. “G-Give me a second…”

Iwaizumi scowls at him. “I’ve already given you a lot of seconds.”

“Just as you’ve said," Oikawa purses his lip, face flushed in embarrassment. "This feels super weird somehow.”

His awkwardness must’ve rubbed off on him as Iwaizumi feels reality sinking in. Shoulders heave along with a sigh. “Do you want to stop?” he asks him genially, as if stopping would allow their friendship to stay in tact, as if it’s not already dismembered. But the realization feels strangely refreshing and restrictive at the same time, Iwaizumi reaching out again to the side of Oikawa’s face. “I’ll stop if you want me to.”

“N-No, it’s just—” Oikawa pauses, now aware that he’s already lost to his hormones. He sucks in a breath, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to cast off the awkwardness. “I want to—but, I don’t know, it just feels—”

“Hajime!”

Iwaizumi’s mother shouts from downstairs, along with the loud thud of the front door closing. They hurry to sit up from their tangled position, with Oikawa practically pushing Hajime off the bed.

“Come down and help me make breakfast!”

Hajime casts him a sideways glare, together with a frown that speaks volumes. But Oikawa stares back, muttering a small apology that slowly fades into laughter.

“I _told_ you she won't take long."

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa is the one who pops into the kitchen. Hajime’s mother perches on the counter, taking out ingredients from a plastic bag. He smiles a little. It’s been a long time since he had spent a morning in their house.

“Need any help, Auntie?” Oikawa asks, causing the woman to jump slightly. “Iwa-chan’s sleeping upstairs, so I’ll be your assistant today!”

“Oh, no, no, no, Tooru. You should rest instead.” She then shakes her head and tries to push Oikawa out of the kitchen, letting out a loud sigh. “Ahh, that Hajime, always lazing around.”

“We did wake up pretty early today. Besides, he’s always cooking for me back in Tokyo,” Oikawa says fondly. It’s only fair, he thinks. Every morning he’d wake up to Hajime, long chopsticks in hand, frying something in a pan. Oikawa doesn’t complain. With Hajime, he feels like eating at a fancy restaurant everyday.

But if there’s anyone who is better than Hajime in cooking, it’s his mother.

Iwaizumi Risa is young, barely into her forties, as she had married at an early age. Her carriage is always festive and vivid, with a strong vestige of Southeast Asian in her almond eyes and accent. Oikawa watches her take out the tofu she had bought from Konishi-san’s shop. Her hands are small and tan, her fingers getting seemingly shorter when she grabs a large kitchen knife.

“Tooru, dear, get the soy sauce for me, will you?” She says sweetly, her lips pointing at the upper cabinets when he asked where it was. Oikawa reaches out and grabs the bottle with ease. He hands it over, but not before Risa comments on his height. Whenever he comes over, even during his middle school days, she never fails to ask how tall he is, always forgetting the answer. And even after stopping at six feet, she still asks. He chuckles at her funny habit.

Much like Hajime, she never lets him near the knives, or any cutting jobs, so she ends up cutting the onions and garlic. She asks him to snap some string beans into smaller pieces instead, and Oikawa does this easily as there’s no cutlery needed. It surprises him when she agrees in letting him captain the cooktop and the tofu. Nervously, he waits for the tofu cubes to turn into a light brown, keeping a careful eye on it before it burns. The lady chef pokes the tofu with long wooden chopsticks. Perfect, she says.

“There’s a different air around you now, Tooru,” she notes, her expression wistful. She grabs another saucepan from the wall rack. “Hajime isn’t being troublesome, is he?”

Oikawa shakes his head frantically. “Oh, no, never,” he replies honestly, pressing his lips together before breathing out a short laugh. The whisper slips his tongue. “In fact, I’m the troublesome one.”

She glances up at Oikawa, noting the sudden change in his energy.

“I didn’t punch him,” he confesses, although she already knows that. She waits for him to continue. No rush, her eyes say. “I was, uh—an alpha tried to, um…” Oikawa darts out a tongue nervously. His stomach flips unpleasantly at the memory. “I was attacked by an alpha in school, so Iwa-chan beat him up.” He hesitates with a nervous laugh, chopsticks still loosely clasped between his fingers. “He tried to get back at Iwa-chan, and brought his pack along.”

Her eyebrows dip down in empathy. “Oh honey, Tooru, it’s alright. I know it must be so hard for you, having to present suddenly like that.” She takes him by the arm, pulling Oikawa into a swift, motherly hug. Oikawa appreciates the warm and basks in it. Pulling away, she rests a free hand on his back as she melts butter on the second pan. She tosses in the garlic and onions she had cut. “It takes some time getting used to. I should know.”

Her laugh takes off some of the heaviness in his heart.

“And just so we’re clear, son, I’m not blaming you for anything,” she says slowly, like she’s making sure Oikawa gets the point. “Hajime has always been like that. He’s such a brute. Just like his father.”

“Thanks, Auntie,” he whispers, not exactly knowing why he’s thanking her. His hands fiddle when he lets go and lowers the heat on his pan of tofu. Hajime had always described his mother as loud and brash and naggy, but Oikawa likes to disagree.

Their kitchen is big, and the island in the middle of the room fits quite nicely into the homey feel of the place. It takes a while before the lovely vinegar smell fills the area. She pours in a cup of water, soy sauce, and vinegar onto the saucepan, Oikawa throwing in some bay leaves and pepper while it simmers. Risa tells him to put in the fried tofu and string beans next, finishing it off with a dash of sugar and salt.

Once they’re done, Hajime’s mother puts everything in a large bowl and begins to scoop up rice on two plates. Oikawa flinches a bit when she shouts Hajime’s name suddenly, yelling at him to come down. He offers to go upstairs and wake him, but she refuses. There’s a grumpy thump of wood from upstairs. Hajime had just woken up from his nap, probably.

“It’s different from what Iwa-chan usually makes,” Oikawa notes and leans closer to the dish, recalling the countless times Hajime had made agedashi tofu. The sauce on this one is darker, more aromatic – braised in soy sauce, vinegar, and various spices. It smells heavenly, the tender but sharp aroma nipping at his senses.

“It’s a personal recipe,” she says with a smile, taking a whiff of her own creation. Traditionally, Hajime would make the sauce with bonito flakes, kelp, and sardines. Hajime’s fried tofu is definitely milder, and quite bland if Oikawa had to be honest. Then again, Oikawa never really liked dishes with tofu. Until now, that is. “It’s one of Hajime’s favorites, sometimes with crab sauce, but that boy always forgets how to make it.”

Oikawa’s eyes sparkle.

“Can you give me the recipe?”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Oikawa keeps his eyes closed even after accepting the fact that he won’t be able to sleep tonight.

He pulls up the thick covers up to his head, completely covering himself with it. His feet feel icy, and he rubs them together for artificial warmth. Oikawa curls into a fetal position, then rolls to his side, and not a minute after he decides to lie down on his stomach instead. Breathing in deeply, Oikawa only sighs out in disappointment.

The room he’s in doesn’t have a particular smell – because Hajime isn’t in it.

“Separate beds,” Hajime’s mother had said.

In linked confusion, the both blurted out “What?”

“Tooru can sleep in the guest room.”

Hajime’s mother had always been quite conservative, although his father is the opposite. His dad had arrived late in the afternoon from work and had no qualms about Oikawa sleeping in Hajime’s room, because as he casually mentioned, it should be “normal for a bonded alpha and omega”. Unlike the mother, Iwaizumi Kazuhiko is meek and laid-back, his nonchalance often getting mistaken for indifference. But that’s not the case (not most of the time). Even as the alpha of the house, his wife seems to be the one in charge, and it surprised Oikawa how easily he had submitted to his wife’s final decision.

His surroundings spin when he lurches himself into sitting up.

It’s no good. He can’t sleep at all.

After an hour of tossing and turning, his body simply refuses to rest, looking for a very specific warmth. Oikawa chucks the blanket miserably away from him and stands up. He walks in small steps, but even then the wood would creak under his weight. Hajime’s room is right next to him, so it doesn’t take long before Oikawa reaches the door. The hinges squeak, and Oikawa is debating whether or not he should continue. He does though, and it seems like Hajime isn’t too happy.

“Oikawa,” he says in near frustration. There’s not a hint of sleepiness in his voice, and Oikawa can tell there’s a little bit of relief in there. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Oikawa climbs on the small bed. “Move over,” he says bluntly. He ignores the other’s protests and forcefully nestles himself next to Hajime, sliding beneath the covers. They have never slept separately since the holidays, and Oikawa doesn’t plan on stopping now. With a grunt, Hajime rolls to the side and turns his back at him.

“Iwa-cha—n,” Oikawa whines and hugs him from behind. It’s unmistakable; breathing in Hajime’s scent really does wonders. “How can you be like this? Pay attention to me. I’m tired.”

“You just watched dramas with mom all day.”

“I’m tired mentally, Iwa-chan, _mentally_ ," Oikawa retorts, feeling more relaxed and warm and too many things because he’s once again reunited with Hajime. “Those things are _not_ good for my heart. My emotions have been greatly reduced into ashes.”

The back he’s pressing into huffs, then there’s a rustle of fabric, the old bed squeaking and bouncing against the floor. He can see Hajime’s face now, head nestled on one bent arm. Oikawa can feel his gaze.

Reaching out, Hajime brushes his thumb against Oikawa’s cheek.

“You should go back.”

His voice is low and curt. He sounds sad, even. The soft touch that goes along Hajime’s rejection makes a terrible nest in Oikawa’s chest. “I couldn’t sleep,” Oikawa murmurs, turning his head up a little to look at a grumpy Hajime only to see a soft face within the dark. “Can you?”

Hajime pauses and draws a breath, hesitating before he speaks.

“No.”

“I can sing you a lullaby if you want.”

Hajime closes his eyes in an attempt to sleep, confident he’ll be able to this time. “I don’t want you accidentally summoning a demon with your singing.”

Oikawa breathes out a tired chuckle. He searches Hajime’s face in the moonlight, and he barely needs to think when he leans forward until their lips touch. It’s hardly a kiss, and just like the dramas he had watched, Oikawa doesn’t push further, doesn’t deepen it. His lips are just there, completely unmoving, no puckering, just ghosting over Hajime’s that are just as still.

His eyes flutter open, along with a soft smile. “That’s how they kiss in morning dramas.”

Hajime just blinks back, looking a little dissatisfied. “Like robots?”

“Yeah.” Oikawa laughs, his eyes squinting. “Iwa-chan oughta teach them a thing or two.”

Feeling a warm hand against his cheek, a sudden wave of sleepiness kicks in. Oikawa scoots closer so just their noses touch, smiling, tilting his head a little to playfully bite onto Hajime’s thumb. But Hajime drags his hand up to caress his forehead, grazing up until he brushes Oikawa’s fringes away so he can kiss him.

Hajime brushes along his soft lips slowly, pausing for a second, waiting for some kind of permission to continue. Oikawa doesn’t waste a second and moves back in, luring Hajime in with a hand around his neck. He tastes like menthol and bliss, the lazy kiss bringing out quiet moans and languid exhales.

Oikawa laughs between their open mouths when Hajime tangles their limbs together under the covers, accidentally brushing a ticklish spot. An idle grin pulls at his mouth when he draws back. “You know, while we were watching a prosecutor drama, your mom told me she’ll kill you if you hurt me,” Oikawa says, light fingers absently trailing the fading bruises on Hajime’s face. “She insisted on separate rooms so she doesn’t have to murder Iwa-chan in her own house.”

“She’s overreacting.” Hajime shifts on the bed, rolling from his sideward position to lay on his back. He closes his eyes again and huffs. “We share beds all the time, even when we were kids.”

“There’s a _big_ difference now,” Oikawa says right after, his voice mellow, linking their hands together as he huddles closer, not sparing any space between them. He settles his head into Hajime’s folded arm. “You think... things would be easier if I were a beta? Or an alpha?”

Hajime doesn’t answer out loud at first, pressing his lips to Oikawa’s forehead. “I doubt it.” Oikawa sighs in appreciation. “It doesn’t matter what you end up to be. I’ll still be in love with the same annoying, stubborn, irritating dumbass anyway.”

Oikawa blinks in surprise. “Wait,” he mutters, a silly little smile slowly making its way up. It’s not often he can make Hajime say that he loves him. “What did you just say?”

He grunts, brows scrunching in regret. “Not important. It’s fine if you missed it.”

“I heard everything!”

“No need to repeat it then.”

Oikawa sniffs, his sulking pout slowly curving into a smile. He fluffs his arm pillow with the side of his head, earning a pained groan from the alpha. “You really are the worst.”

“Well, you’re not any better.”

“Iwa-chan, please. I’m the _best_ thing that ever happened to—”

It’s strange how familiar it is when Hajime presses their mouths together, like they have done it for years. In his mind, Oikawa writes up a list of things they’ve been doing since they were children, and kissing is definitely not one of them. He reckons it’s due to Hajime’s fluctuating affection - one minute he’s blasting him with insults, the next he’s suddenly warm and selfless and showering him with attention. It went on from kindergarten up to now, and Oikawa is more than willing to allow Hajime to spoil him.

“What’s the plan?” Hajime asks when he pulls an inch away, his voice nearly yielding to sleep. Oikawa gives him another whimper, hiding his face and his grip on Hajime tightening. “Mom will kill us if she catches you here in the morning.”

“Correction,” Oikawa cuts off, moving fitfully to keep Hajime from kicking him off the small bed. “She’ll kill _you._ Oikawa-san not included.”

“And it’s entirely your fault.”

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he retorts with a slight lilt, pushing against Hajime’s chest, snuggling up to it in content. “Besides, I can go back before your mom wakes up,” Oikawa whispers, closing his eyes. Hajime had groaned and mumbled something about his low expectations, and that he simply just has to brace himself for the next day. From under the covers, Oikawa tosses an arm and leg over Hajime, so he’d have no choice but to pull him into his arms. Hajime reels him closer without any second thought, positive that he won’t be able to let go. In a heartbeat, they’re tucked perfectly against each other.

“She is going to nag me to _death_ tomorrow.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

On the fourth day of their vacation, Iwaizumi sits on the couch and decides to spend the day like a _himajin_ as planned – video games, early morning junk food, and all-day pajamas. It’s not everyday he can slack off like this, not when he’s living with Oikawa Tooru. He deserves this - especially after being scolded for letting Oikawa sleep on his bed a few nights ago. Oikawa sneaks in the night after, still, but on the third day Iwaizumi Risa finally gave up, thinking that there was nothing she could do to keep Tooru away.

Iwaizumi then hears him approaching, his footsteps heavy when he skips down the stairs. His mother is singing in the kitchen, cooking breakfast, the smoky smell of bacon and fried rice dressing the air up nicely.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa sings out from across the room, breaking his focus from the game. "Mattsun and Makki is in town! They want to meet up, and they also said they’re missing Hajime-kun because he never replies to their messages.”

Iwaizumi keeps his eyes peeled on their curved TV, button-mashing the controller when an enemy suddenly burst out in his view. He had ran out of bullets and is using a mere knife to fight off the monsters. “Sure,” he says simply. “Where are they now?”

The other hums, scrolling through their chats in LINE. “Makki thinks we should grab a drink later, maybe at an izakaya downtown. We’re still looking for places.” Oikawa climbs onto the couch and drops his head on Iwaizumi’s lap, flashing a ridiculously bright and distracting smile straight at him – straight at his heart. “You’ll come with us, won’t you?”

Iwaizumi scowls down on the huge distraction lying on his lap before redirecting it to the intimidating ‘You Are Dead’ on his screen. He pinches his cheeks, Oikawa yelping in pain and trying to pry his hand away. “I’ll go,” Iwaizumi tells him and clears his throat. He sits more upright, clicking a button to reload a checkpoint.

His focus shifts quickly back into the television. But Oikawa seems to be keen on preventing the game to hog all of Iwaizumi’s attention, circling his arms around his waist. He brushes the top of his head on Iwaizumi’s neck to scent the alpha, hands creeping beneath his shirt, his cold fingers brushing along his hard stomach—

The screen blurs and fades to black again.

 **_You Are Dead  
_** _Retry_  
_End_  
_Restart from the last saved data._  
◯ OK

Iwaizumi lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Wow, Iwa-chan, you suck.”

“Shut up.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

There’s a huge red lantern by the entrance when they step inside the izakaya.

“Sorry we’re late,” Oikawa says, his features anything but apologetic. He smiles over to his old friends, and in under a second shoeless and seated at a private table.

“It’s fine. We know how newlyweds are.” Hanamaki invites them in with a wide grin and a welcoming hand.

Iwaizumi side-eyes Oikawa before kneeling down on the floor cushion. “This idiot took way too long in the bath.”

“Calling your husband an idiot, how rude,” Oikawa says and shakes his head, pretending to be offended.

“I want a divorce.”

“You can’t divorce your way out of this bond, Iwa-chan. You’re already in too deep, and I meant that literally and figuratively.”

“Okay, okay, wrap it up, lovebirds,” Matsukawa bellows in a much louder voice. He smiles at both of them, shoving the menu over to their direction. “Let’s order,” he adds, rubbing his gloveless hands together. “Something warm hopefully. It’s terribly cold outside.”

The next hour is filled with the loud tall tales of the crowd. They had finished eating all of the complimentary appetizers when their first round of orders arrived. Iwaizumi manages to gobble down several cups of warm sake before actually feeling the alcohol kick in.

“Ordering sake like old men,” Hanamaki remarks, tipping the ceramic tokkuri to pour himself another cup. “Are we that old?”

Iwaizumi defends their decision, saying it’s best to warm themselves up with hot alcohol before ordering anything cold. He learns that Hanamaki had just arrived this morning, and Matsukawa a day earlier. Just like before, their conversation revolves around volleyball, upcoming movies, Kamen Rider, college, and the usual stories that fondly takes them through memory lane.

“I heard Kindaichi’s applying for a university in Tokyo,” Matsukawa starts, taking a long swig of his pint of beer. “I won’t be surprised if he applies in Chuo.”

“Oh, right, our cute kohais just graduated,” Oikawa muses, sighing contentedly. It would be nice to have Kindaichi around. But his face is soft until he thinks about another lowerclassman. His pupils dilate in alert, hands banging their short-legged table. “What about Tobio? Which university did he apply to!?”

“Na-uh, he’s ours.” Matsukawa says with a triumphant grin. “He got scouted by Keio and he accepted.”

“Hmph!” Oikawa scoffs loudly, folding his arms over his chest. “Good. You can have him.”

“We’ll have Number Ten, too,” Matsukawa adds, tilting his head. “Remember him?”

“Chibi-chan?” Oikawa asks in disbelief, then shrugs. He’s surprised he even got into a good university. “Fine! Take him! They suck without each other anyway!”

Hanamaki chokes on his drink. “You’re one to talk.”

“Excuse me, Iwa-chan and I are different,” Oikawa says, rolling his eyes. “We’re still super cool even if we’re on different teams!”

“What about the others? Where did they end up in?” Iwaizumi chimes in calmly. He sips on his glass. There’s little news about his other teammates, and he’s genuinely curious.

“Hm, Kunimi’s applying for a university in the capital, too. But I think he got scouted by a local school, though. Watari’s in Tohoku.” Hanamaki brings out his phone and scrolls through his SNS to look for clues. “Oh! And that Yahaba got into Todai last year!”

“That’s impressive,” Iwaizumi praises. He sort of expected it. Yahaba is one of their sharpest beta players after all. “We haven’t seen him play yet, though.”

Oikawa hums in thought. “He’s probably waiting until he’s a second or third year.”

Hanamaki is the pack’s gossip mill. He’d know what everyone was up to. But the rumors die down after a couple of minutes, then he would often ask a couple of questions, tactless things like “How’s the mated life?” and “How does it feel being an omega now?” These questions would’ve made Oikawa uncomfortable before, but as Iwaizumi glances at him and catches the happiness in his voice when he answers, he finds himself smiling too.

It’s mostly Oikawa and Hanamaki talking by the time the fourth round of beers arrive.

By pure instinct, his gaze remains on Oikawa – sitting across Iwaizumi. There’s always a moment of clarity within his mild drunkenness whenever he hears Oikawa laugh, the warm sound pulling delicately at his awareness. He sees Oikawa’s flushed face, skin viciously pink from all the beer and sake he had consumed. He’s drunk, obviously, his signature tart scent weaving with malt and caramel.

“How about it?”

The voice breaks him away from his trance. Iwaizumi looks over at Hanamaki, his elbow on the table, arms erect, the beta demanding an arm-wrestling battle.

“Don’t tell me you’re already drunk,” Matsukawa mocks, sneering beside him. Iwaizumi glares at his friend’s ironically red face. “Think about it, if you win, Hanamaki owes you drinks for an entire month.”

“You think you can beat me because of my vulnerable state?” Iwaizumi says, accepting Hanamaki’s challenge. The corner of his lips turns up in confidence. He’s a bit tipsy, but he’s sure his strength won’t falter even under the influence. Hanamaki smiles back with the same grit, implying that he might be training for this for the past few months. “Fine. I’ll give you the advantage.”

“Oh no, Makki, you’re so dead,” Oikawa warns as Iwaizumi takes off his parka, rolling up the long sleeves of his shirt. He grips Hanamaki’s hand, and Matsukawa volunteers to be the referee.

“Your grip’s a bit weak, Hajime-kun. I see being with Oikawa has made you soft,” Hanamaki provokes, adjusting his own grip. Oikawa lets out an offended “What’s that supposed to mean?!” beside him.

Iwaizumi raises one brow at him. “Don’t go crying when you lose.”

Matsukawa counts to three, releasing their hands after. Hanamaki pushes hard before the muscles of his arm reaches its maximum strength. Iwaizumi doesn’t budge, not even an inch, not even a centimeter.

Honestly, Iwaizumi expected some sort of struggle, some swaying. They’re stuck at the same right angle, and this is strange because Iwaizumi isn’t exerting much strength. At least not yet. His grip tightens, arms taut. Pushing with a surge of power, Hanamaki’s arms sinks into an acute angle. Iwaizumi glances up with a smug smirk before slamming the young man’s arm down.

But Hanamaki doesn’t falter. He demands a rematch, to which Iwaizumi obliges. Several failed attempts later, his pride has shattered into pieces, and Hanamaki finally admits defeat.

“It can’t be…!” Hanamaki drawls out dramatically, looking incredulously at his losing hand. Oikawa stops cheering and pats his shoulder to comfort him, muttering something about getting his revenge in the next hundred years.

They had gone silent for several seconds until another elbow hits the battered surface of their table. Iwaizumi’s eyes widen at Oikawa, arms upright, an annoyingly cheerful smile sweeping across his glowing face.

“Let me try.”

The other three gives him a strange look.

“What’s with those faces?” Oikawa twists his right shoulder, warming up. “You think I’m not stronger than any of you? It’s because I’m an omega, isn’t it?! That’s fucked up, you guys!”

“It’s not that.” Hanamaki leans his face closer, presenting his limp arm like he’s showing off a dead fish. “Oikawa, you don’t have to do this. Look at my arm. _Look_ at it! It’s pulverized, along with my dignity! Iwaizumi will literally crush you _and_ your pride!”

“Pride? Please,” Oikawa scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m already letting Iwa-chan pound my a—”

“Stop right there, my man,” Matsukawa cuts off. He shakes his head like a disappointed parent and sighs heavily. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“If I win, you’ll do the dishes for a month,” Oikawa says with a serious face, flashing him the same smile whenever it’s his turn to serve.

Iwaizumi would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so nervous. He’s hiding something, and Iwaizumi prepares himself not to fall for his mind tricks. "You always say that 'cause that's the only thing I make you do in the apartment."

“That’s boring. Since you guys are being all gross and stuff, how about this,” Hanamaki cuts in, pausing in for a more climactic effect “Whoever wins will have exclusive naming rights of your first child.”

“Fine,” Oikawa says a little too quickly.

Iwaizumi narrows his eyes and takes Oikawa’s hand. “Fine.”

“Hope you’ll like Padmé Amidala for our baby girl.”

He raises one brow. “Oh? What if it’s a boy?”

“Hikaru Sulu.”

Iwaizumi is starting to regret this. “You gotta be kidding me.”

Oikawa’s hands are not dainty by all means. They’re just as huge and strong, and Iwaizumi can’t help but feel a little concerned. It’s not as if Oikawa had ever won before, because he hasn’t, but he’s not entirely sure now. His hands are warm and pink from the liquor, and Iwaizumi realizes his entire body must be so pink right now and he just can’t see it.

Again, Matsukawa counts to three and shouts the go signal. Iwaizumi doesn’t hold back as he fights on with a solid grip. Surprisingly, Oikawa is able to hold out much longer than Hanamaki. There’s a bead of sweat beneath his brown fringes. Iwaizumi casts his gaze away from the omega so he won’t get distracted, but Oikawa glares at him as his arms starts to quiver under the pressure. The alpha shoots him a conceited grin.

He mercilessly crushes Oikawa’s hand even further until the angle bends dangerously on his side, getting ready for the final blow when he catches Oikawa wincing in pain.

Oikawa’s aura changes drastically.

“Ow, ow, ow, Iwa-chan, that hurts—!”

Iwaizumi hesitates, and immediately loosens his grip to apologize.

“S-Sorry, did I—”

With one strong thrust and in the alpha’s moment of hesitation, Oikawa pushes Iwaizumi’s hand down.

Taking his honor with it.

Everyone is silent when Iwaizumi looks up, wide eyes and disbelief. Oikawa’s panting, face even redder than before, his pompous smile making Iwaizumi’s eye twitch.

“I won!”

“That’s fucking cheating!” Iwaizumi slams a fist down in protest. “I want a rematch!”

“What are you talking about?” Oikawa raises his brows at him. He pretends that his arm isn’t numb and shaky from the strain and takes a sip from his beer. “I didn’t do anything. I won fair and square.”

Without warning, Hanamaki bursts into laughter. Their referee claps in slow intervals, as if getting ready to be followed by a huge applause. “A formidable strategy from our challenger,” Matsukawa says, praising Oikawa with a proud slap on the shoulder.

Hanamaki smiles, wiping the tears in his eyes.

“But I’m afraid it will only work if you’re Oikawa Tooru.”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Just like any other city, Sendai at night is brilliant and ablazed with music and neon. It’s much more subdued than Tokyo – less people, less lights, but Iwaizumi thinks it’s fine that way. It’s comfortable. Iwaizumi drags his feet out of the small alley of bars and pubs, hearing Hanamaki’s distant “Take good care of him, Hajime-kun!” behind him. He adjusts the weight on his shoulder before sighing.

“You really can’t hold your liquor, huh?” Iwaizumi mutters at a drunken Oikawa. He has one arm over his shoulder, and Iwaizumi hauling him up by the waist. Oikawa gives a sleepy hum in response.

People turns to look at them as quickly as they turn away. Two drunken guys trying to get home is not an uncommon sight, and there are far worse drunkards out there, but Oikawa is making him think otherwise. The omega stumbles with each step, laughing each time he nearly pulls Iwaizumi down. And whenever Iwaizumi hoists him up, the young man would try to kiss him.

The cold air does nothing to help Iwaizumi sober up, and if anything, this walk home is making his headache worse and his senses duller.

“Iwa—Iwa-chan should just… just carry me,” Oikawa mumbles, brushing his nose along the side of Iwaizumi’s neck, as if he’s trying to bait him into doing something indecent. Iwaizumi grunts and ignores the other’s drunken rambles. “Iwa-chan,” he drawls out again, his voice more annoying than ever. “Carry me. I can’t walk—”

“Yes, you can,” Iwaizumi cuts in.

He continues to whine and pretends to cry. “Carry me—”

“No, you’re heavy.”

“Carry me, Iwa-chan! Captain’s orders!”

Iwaizumi stops for a moment, finding himself smiling by the second. “You’re not the captain,” he tells him bluntly. He sighs, shifting Oikawa into another position, grabbing his other arm. “Not just yet.”

“You’d always carry me before…”

With that, Iwaizumi submits, and Oikawa is lifted up from the ground, legs bent at the knees, Iwaizumi’s hand hooked under his thighs. He feels Oikawa instinctively wrapping an arm around his neck, clutching him from the back. Oikawa lets out a satisfied sigh, drowsy eyes closing.

How long has it been since he had carried Oikawa like this? The only time Iwaizumi remembers giving him a piggyback ride was during middle school, when his knee started to act up for the first time. The memory leaves a bad taste in his mouth. That was the time Oikawa began to doubt himself, began to wonder why he wasn’t born an alpha. But at the same time, he gave himself challenges he couldn’t handle, because he was too confident, and because Oikawa’s weird like that – confident but insecure.

“You smell really nice,” he whispers, earnestly nestling hi face at the back of his neck, scent-marking Iwaizumi without actually realizing it.

Iwaizumi’s face reddens. “You always say that.”

It must have some kind of effect, Iwaizumi wonders. Oikawa’s natural scent is resurfacing, so it might mean he’s becoming sober. He fucking hopes so. Their house is still a long walk away, and even though Iwaizumi knows he’s strong enough to carry a sleeping six-foot, able-bodied man in his twenties back home, he’s not sure if he can stay awake for that long, being a little drunk himself.

He hears Oikawa murmur something again, stirring himself awake, but Iwaizumi doesn’t hear it, as the young man once again falls limp on his back.

“Traditional or suits?”

“What?” he asks, not quite catching Oikawa’s mumbling.

“Our wedding…” he mutters between drunken gibberish. His arms tighten around Iwaizumi’s neck, nuzzling his face deeper into him. “Traditional… or suits…”

Iwaizumi swallows hard, a strange warmth crawling up to his cheeks. He readjusts Oikawa’s weight and walks faster, wondering what Oikawa is dreaming about to ask that.

“Traditional.”

With tired arms, Iwaizumi reaches the front of his house. The lights are already out, and he wonders if he should drop Oikawa at his own house instead. Oikawa’s parents won’t be there until tomorrow. Iwaizumi thinks it’s a better idea than waking his parents up in the middle of the night and have his mother nag at him because he let Oikawa drink too much.

They’ve been neighbors all their lives, and the ten-step distance between their homes is all too familiar. Iwaizumi breathes out in quiet relief when the code he punches in their digital door lock worked. It’s still the same number even after four years since Oikawa’s folks had installed it.

Oikawa’s room is the same, too.

It doesn’t smell like anything, unlike its original owner who is releasing high levels of alcohol-induced pheromones, saturating the once odorless room. Oikawa didn’t have a bed, preferring a futon instead because he believes it’s healthier for his back. His monitor and computer aren’t there by the desk, since he had brought it to their apartment in Tokyo.

He gently drops Oikawa on the floor, the sluggish young man curling up contentedly like he’s already on a bed. Iwaizumi groans when his headache worsened, walking over to the closet where the futon and pillows are stored. The strong fragrance of laundry detergent sends an unpleasant sting in his nose when he grabs the beddings and lays them messily on the tatami. Oikawa must’ve recognized the familiar smell of his home, instinctively nestling right inside the thick covers. He leaves him there for a while.

Iwaizumi closes the door behind him when comes in, holding a glass of water.

As if on cue, Oikawa wakes up with a groan.

“Iwa-chan...? Where are we?” is the first thing he asks, eyes half-open. His voice is hoarse and low from the alcohol. _Can’t he recognize his own room?_ Iwaizumi fixes the thick blanket so it covers him up to his neck.

“We’re in your house,” Iwaizumi says, now slightly sober. He helps Oikawa sit up. “It’s bad if you get a hangover tomorrow so drink up.”

Oikawa is still flushed from top to bottom, his face and neck still speckled in pink. He props his elbows to curl his upper body up and drinks the glass of water obediently, coughing right after the last gulp.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa murmurs drowsily, turning to look at Iwaizumi with heavy eyes.

Iwaizumi is about to ask what he wants, but is stopped when Oikawa’s hands fly to his shoulders, almost suffocating Iwaizumi when he snakes his arms around his neck. He whimpers and sobs Iwaizumi’s name, over and over again.

Iwaizumi drops the empty glass, thankful it didn’t break. “Oikawa, what—!”

Even in his drunken stupor, Oikawa seems to have retained his strength and stubbornness as he pushes Iwaizumi down on the floor, climbing on top of him. Iwaizumi grunts with the impact. But Oikawa merely chuckles, finding humor in his pain. He hears Oikawa purr deep in his throat as he crawls over him like a tiger.

“Iwa-chan,” he drawls again, his tone a bit different this time.

Oikawa lunges forward before Iwaizumi could say anything, crashing his lips against the alpha’s, darting his tongue inside Iwaizumi’s open mouth. His hands rapidly slide to both sides of his face, moaning and asking for his attention. Iwaizumi’s eyes squeeze shut at the rough contact. Oikawa tastes like beer and sake and seaweed all braised together, Oikawa’s sudden boldness clear in the forceful pressure of his grasp and the bold flicker of his tongue.

This is a bad idea, Iwaizumi can’t help but think, although he finds himself returning the kiss by instinct. Oikawa’s a flushed panting mess when Iwaizumi manages to push him away. But the omega bends down limply right after, nuzzling his face into the side of Iwaizumi’s neck. Iwaizumi thinks he might’ve surrendered until Oikawa blurts out;

“Let’s fuck.”

Green eyes flew open.

“We are absolutely _not_ doing it while you’re drunk as hell!” Iwaizumi spits out angrily. He’s not going to take advantage of Oikawa like this. He’s not like that. He props his elbows up and brings Oikawa with him in attempt to shove him back. Still, Oikawa resists, sitting on his lap when Iwaizumi feels a hand in his inner thigh, stroking the fabric of his jeans.

“You’re so much bigger now than when we were kids,” Oikawa murmurs against the warm skin behind Iwaizumi’s ears before moving to suck a spot close to Iwaizumi’s throat, his hands stroking him dangerously below.

Iwaizumi feels his own face boil, narrowing his eyes at Oikawa who had successfully made things awkward and also successfully unzipped his pants.

“Did you really have to bring that up?” Iwaizumi says with an embarrassed groan, finding it harder and harder to thwart the omega’s advances. “Oikawa, shit, stop it—”

His protests die just as Oikawa’s hand starts stroking him, his kisses and nips and licks grazing hungrily over his mouth. Oikawa goes back to the area by his neck, sucking and sinking his teeth into his jaw. Iwaizumi’s eyes close involuntarily, a tortured groan scratching his voice. He has his hands on Oikawa’s waist, but he can’t seem to move them away. Clumsily, Oikawa shifts his weight to crawl astride the alpha’s leg. With a lewd growl, Oikawa fumbles, ducking his head down, taking him into his mouth.

“Ngh...!  _Fuck_ —” Iwaizumi grinds out, feeling the vibrations inside Oikawa’s mouth. He drags his fingertips along the sensitive skin below, causing the alpha to gasp for air.

Iwaizumi’s not sure what to do anymore. The wet sounds Oikawa evokes something in him, his fingers tangling into the omega’s hair as he messily sucks in his thickening arousal. There’s no pattern, each drunken touch of his tongue and lips and hands causing him to swell even more. Oikawa pulls his mouth off him with a slurp. His half-lidded eyes stare back at Hajime, sending shivers all over his body.

“Iwa-chan...” he whimpers again, bringing his weight back on his lap. Oikawa stumblingly tries to unbutton his own pants as he straddles Iwaizumi, resting his forehead on his shoulder because he can’t carry his own weight, his consciousness slowly slipping away. “I want to…”

But Iwaizumi, being as noble as he is, knowing at some point he won’t be able to restrain himself from falling into Oikawa’s tempting whims, shoves him off by the shoulders before this whole thing leads into something more.

“Hey, stop already—!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t know whether to be relieved or angry.

“Are you—” Iwaizumi’s whispers is cut off by his own surprise. The young man straddling him falls limply against him, his cheeks smushed into his shoulder, his features so innocent and so peaceful it’s almost as if he wasn’t trying to get into his pants.

Oikawa had fallen asleep.

“Give me a fucking break,” he groans in frustration, looking down at his groin and the effects of Oikawa’s drunken stunt.

That’s one more problem to worry about.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Time passes by as quickly as spring breathes new life from winter’s tracks. The sky is clear today, and the sun shines elegantly from the east, warming the western breeze, moist but pleasant. When Iwaizumi steps out in a black hooded pullover, the west wind strikes frigidly, making him shiver and forces his hands inside his pockets.

Oikawa Yuuko is the one who opens the door when he rings the doorbell, followed by Takeru who had grown taller since he had last met him. Oikawa’s nephew invites him inside, excited to see ‘Hajime-onii-chan’ again. But Iwaizumi rejects the offer for the meantime and asks where Oikawa is.

It's a bit hard to maintain eye contact with Oikawa's mother, as she walked in on them passed out and hungover just two mornings ago. She doesn't seem at all mad though. Her voice is far too cheerful for an early morning, reminding Iwaizumi of a certain someone. There’s a slight worry when she tells him her son had left for a run right after she had made breakfast.

“I’m sure Hajime-kun knows where to find him.”

Iwaizumi knows Oikawa’s favorite route. Naturally. They’ve gone on morning jogs before. Oikawa would always stop somewhere after one or two kilometers of cardio, and Iwaizumi already has one place in mind. But he doesn’t run after him right away, not entirely in a hurry. He walks back to his house, squeezing himself through the narrow alley that leads to their back yard.

His blue mountain bike is still there, blanketed in a nylon car cover, its tires worn out and a bit deflated, cranks bent, its chains loose. It definitely needs some work – it’s rusty, but still blue, and Iwaizumi is having doubts whether he still knows how to ride it. The pedals spin smoothly enough. He sees an old air pump and inflates the tires, giving it a squeeze before stopping.

Iwaizumi hops on.

There’s a covered court on the edge of their neighborhood, where the hills are open and the forests dense and abundant. It’s empty and quiet, except for the sound of a ball bouncing. Iwaizumi’s footsteps must’ve been loud, as Oikawa whirls around so fast he nearly forgets to catch the volleyball that he had been throwing up in the air. He pauses in the middle of his solo setting drills before waving his hand at Iwaizumi’s direction.

“Iwa-chan! Good morning!” Oikawa greets, still vigorously waving his hand hello until Iwaizumi is at least a meter away.

“We’re on break and you’re still playing volleyball?” Iwaizumi asks, abruptly slapping the ball down like a basketball to steal it from Oikawa. The other yells out a “hey!” when Iwaizumi attempts to shoot it towards the basket across the court. He misses by an inch, the ball bouncing back to their direction. “Your mom told me you went out for a run. You haven’t had breakfast yet, have you?”

Oikawa doesn’t reply, narrowing his eyes at Hajime.

“I can’t believe you,” Oikawa murmurs out of the blue, with no context whatsoever. His brows crease adorably at him. “This morning, mom told me you asked for her _blessing_ way back in December! I didn’t know about this! At all!” Iwaizumi only stares at his pouting face in bewilderment, not exactly sure what to say. “She told your mom and practically every mom in the neighborhood that we’re bonded! She keeps telling me to consummate our bond! And she even gave me pills! The prevent-unwanted-babies kind! I had to leave. I can’t bear it.”

His babbling made his face red, an acre of blush creeping up from his neck and staining his cheeks. After a beat of silence, Iwaizumi huffs a short laugh. “Is that so?” he says simply.

Oikawa puffs his cheeks at the short response and drops down on the floor in some sort of tantrum, crossing his arms. “She knew about us before _I_ knew about it!”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Iwaizumi says, scrutinizing the ball in his hands. The color has faded, but the permanent marker that says ‘Tooru’ is still there. His eyes soften when he stares back at the young man on the floor. “Get up. You look like shit and you smell exhausted.”

Oikawa looks up with a mocking smile, raising an eyebrow. “Don’t you mean ‘you look exhausted and you smell like shit’? Alphas are so weird.”

He reciprocates the smile and shrugs. “That one’s actually worse.” He tucks the ball under one arm. “But It works either way.” Iwaizumi extends his free arm, offering a hand to Oikawa, who doesn’t accept it. He doesn’t give up easily. Iwaizumi grabs his arms, trying to pull him up. Oikawa pulls his own body down to make himself heavier and drags Iwaizumi down with him as he ends up toppling over him.

Iwaizumi groans, dropping hard on his knees. He had extended his arms to stop his fall, and to stop his heavy self from falling on Oikawa. “Why do you keep doing that? God.”

“Let’s watch the cherry blossoms today,” Oikawa blurts out, bolting upright and nearly hitting Iwaizumi’s forehead in excitement. He cups his face playfully. “Mom told me they’re already in full bloom!”

“Now?” Iwaizumi asks in surprise, adjusting his position so he’s kneeling in the same level as Oikawa. “You should eat first.”

“There’ll be food stalls by the park already.” Oikawa purses his lips into a smile, before sliding his arms around his neck. He kisses him on the tip of his injured nose. “You told me before you’ll come watch with me.”

Iwaizumi brushes his brown hair back, dewy from the morning fog.

“Don’t I always?”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

As expected, Oikawa’s spring vacation is very well-documented in social media, the young omega taking photos of sceneries they had seen ever since they were kids – the view from the mountain, the old shops and fish markets, the photogenic roads and lanes lined up with trees. Oikawa had no problem sitting on the rusty rear seat of Iwaizumi’s back, only praying it won’t suddenly fall off from his weight.

“Let’s stop by Aoba Castle and the monument. I wanna take a picture with it.”

Iwaizumi accepts his request.

Despite its history as a fortress, the castle grounds outside serves more as an aesthetic rather than a strategic military spot, and Oikawa takes advantage of this, snapping pictures of the morning view first, then runs around to take more photos of the surrounding shrines.

His eyes tread over to the view Oikawa has been snapping photos of. After a second, Iwaizumi spots him standing in front of the armor-clad statue of their city’s former warlord, majestically looking over their town on horseback, the crescent moon on his helmet touching the sunlight divinely. Likewise, Oikawa strides over the stones as if he owns the place – like an emperor within his kingdom, moving purposely, the tails of his coat swaying behind him.

Iwaizumi then hears his king calling for his vassal.

His feet scrapes across the cobblestones when he approaches. In the middle of asking Iwaizumi for a favor, Oikawa sneezes. And before he could even breathe after, he sneezes twice more. Oikawa angrily rubs his reddening nose as he squeezes his eyes shut at the sudden itch inside. His brown eyes falls open when something soft and heavy is wrapped around his neck.

“You’re not used to Miyagi’s springs anymore, huh?”

Iwaizumi ties the scarf in place.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa breathes out, eyes wide and sparkling at the gesture. “Aren’t you just sweet today?”

He pulls on the knot of his scarf roughly to choke him, Oikawa yapping in pain. “Just because it’s already April doesn’t mean it isn’t cold anymore.” His green-gray eyes paces over Oikawa’s thin shirt and a woolen coat. “Wear more clothes next time, idiot.”

“That’s not what you said last night when we—ack!”

Iwaizumi chokes him with the scarf again, pulling the ends. He glares at him and ignores his pleas for mercy. “Ah, I want to break up.”

“What? No! We’re supposed to die on a space mission together! But I’ll die in an explosion, and you’ll survive, then you’ll commit suicide right after because the love of your life died!”

“I _know_ ,” Iwaizumi plays along, painting his face in fake seriousness. He twists his face like those guys in romance dramas, and Oikawa had to fight back the laughter. “But you’re making this hard for the both of us.”

Oikawa trails over his eyes, trying not to laugh. The corner of his lips curve up slowly, until he’s unable to keep his own smile under wraps because Iwaizumi is really good at keeping a straight face. Finally, he releases a sweet laugh.

“Iwa-chan should consider acting as a future career,” he half-jokes between giggles, pinching both Iwaizumi’s cheeks. squishing and kneading it until his expression changes into something scarier. Hajime definitely has the face for such a job. “You’re better than the men in those primetime dramas.”

“Says someone who won Best Actor in our high school play.” Iwaizumi grabs his wrists, forcing them down. “You played as Date Masamune during our cultural festival. And you wanted to use an actual horse and bring it on stage, then you were in-character for the rest of the day.”

“It’s called method acting, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa retorts matter-of-factly. He tilts his head with a knowing smile. “Besides, you weren’t too bad as Katakura Kojuro. Your samurai impressions are spot-on.”

Iwaizumi smirks. “Of course,” he says, knowing full well no one can do samurai impressions better than him. “So, are you done? I thought you wanted to see the cherry blossoms, Oikawa no Kimi?”

“Yep, I’m done.” Oikawa nods, smiling at Iwaizumi’s samurai speech. He takes Iwaizumi’s hand when he offers it. “Let us go, Iwa-chan-dono!”

He narrows his eyes disappointedly at the sound of his ancient nickname. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

Oikawa only sticks a tongue out. “Just deal with it!”

Iwaizumi doesn’t have a horse to regally ride off into the sunset, or a carriage fit for a prince, but he does have an old bike tarnished with memories. Oikawa slides onto the seat behind him once again, his feet firmly stepping on the footpegs. He loosely reaches for Iwaizumi’s waist before he pedals forward.

There’s really nothing like home, Oikawa reminisces. They had passed the tree-lined path that leads to their previous high school on their way out of the district, because just as the name of their school implies, it’s adjacent to the ashes of the castle. It’s a wonder why he thought about leaving this quiet, green neighborhood, but then he realized he doesn’t want to end up like the ruins of a once great fortress.

Oikawa pulls away from the verdant scenery on either side and turns his head forward. Much like his hometown, Hajime is still the same – a supportive, wistful entity that meets him when he needs to. He presses closer to Hajime’s back, which he had watched grow over the years. His shoulders may be wider, arms longer, but his back is still the same. It’s always been there, and simply the image of it puts his heart at ease, knowing Hajime would carry him on his back whenever he needs to.

“This feels nostalgic,” Oikawa says, his arms around Hajime getting a bit tighter. “When we were in middle school, I was always too tired to ride back home.”

“That’s ‘cause you used to overdo it during after-school practice.”

“And you’d come pick me up with this old thing.”

Something twitches across Oikawa’s face, his eyes blinking more than it should. His fingers digs deeper into the fabric of Hajime’s jacket as he sharply steers left towards the entrance of the flower-viewing park. He doesn’t realize Hajime had slowed down when he tightens his arms around his waist, pressing his face against his back to cover his teary eyes.

“Oi—what are you—!”

The suffocating grip, along with the sudden change in Oikawa’s scent diverts his attention, and Iwaizumi finds that he can’t control the wobbling handlebars. His feet scrapes the ground harshly, as Iwaizumi tries to use his own foot as brakes.

Despite his best efforts, they crash badly onto a clearing.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says first, crawling over towards the young man. He asks with outward concern. “Shit, are you okay?”

Oikawa blinks back. He had fallen sideward, his elbow taking the worst hit. But he shakes his head, ignoring the tiny pain on his elbow. He doesn’t want his worrywart Iwa-chan to feel all guilty again because of a small thing. A second later, Oikawa smiles. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, stands up, and dusts the dead grass that’s sticking to his clothes.

They had crashed in the right place, it seems. Iwaizumi grunts when he tries to stand up, feeling a slight pain on his ankle. There’s a faint gash on the part where the pedals had hit it.

The smell of the cherry blossoms is mild and fragrant.

From the food stalls that lined up from the side, the ground slopes westward, down to the open area of the park. The picnic area is bare, the grass a washed-out green, but the light pink cherry trees that surrounds the lawn greatly compensates for it.

Just as Oikawa had wished, the cherry blossoms had bloomed early.

It’s the perfect weather, complete with birds singing, people gathering under the trees and spreading bright blue picnic blankets on the ground, complementing the muted meadows. There are red and white lanterns dangling from one tree to another, and Iwaizumi knows it’d light up real nicely once the sun sets.

He hears Oikawa’s stomach growl.

“Ah—” Oikawa puts a hand on his belly, begging to be fed. “I haven’t eaten yet.” There’s a short silence. He holds his breath nervously, feeling Hajime’s glare practically burning a hole into his coat.

Iwaizumi strides forward, eyebrows drawn, and roughly yanks Oikawa’s scarf. The other yelps as he gets dragged towards the mobile food stands. Oikawa stumbles as the alpha basically throws him down on one of the plastic stools on the opposite side of the stands.

It’s still pretty early, the sun newly risen, so only half of the shops are open, some still setting up for incoming customers. The spring air is filled by the rosy fragrance of the blooming trees, mingling with the early morning rush and the smoke coming from corns being grilled and takoyaki being fried. He figures he could buy okonomiyaki for Oikawa instead, watching the lady behind the stall pour in some kind of batter on the griddle, rounding it with a ladle before tossing in all the toppings – tempura scraps, red ginger, scallops, bonito flakes, and some seaweed. She finishes off with a huge mountain of cabbage and pork strips before flipping it over. There’s also a yakisoba stall right next where he’s standing, but he decides against it. It’s not very ideal for an empty stomach.

“Eat first,” Iwaizumi says, tone low and commanding. Oikawa watches as he sits beside him, setting down a plate of pretty much everything on the table. His eyes glances up to see Iwaizumi biting onto a stick of yakitori first before thanking him for the meal.

His first bite settles in his stomach wonderfully, the acid eager for something to dissolve. It stirs up his appetite, quick to empty out his paper plate of okonomiyaki, prepared in a way that he liked. Relief sweeps across Iwaizumi’s face.

After Oikawa’s appetite is sated, Iwaizumi chooses a nice secluded grove under a large cherry blossom tree, encircled by many others.

They didn’t have a blanket, or anything to fan out on the grass (because since he’s with Oikawa, they always end up going somewhere unprepared), so they had laid out old newspapers instead. They’re lucky the old man by the yakitori stall is kind enough to give them some.

“Why did you buy us ice cream? It’s so cold out here,” Oikawa asks, reluctantly licking on his watermelon popsicle, afraid his tongue will get stuck. He chews on the chocolate chips disguised as watermelon seeds.

Iwaizumi shrugs. “At least it won’t melt right away.” He proceeds to bite into the popsicle with his front teeth. Oikawa cringes at the sight.

He grabs Iwaizumi’s wrist to stop him from biting another chunk. “Eww, no, why are you—Iwa-chan, that’s not how to eat ice cream!” The alpha only blinks at him and jerks his hand away. He takes another bite, his face blank, eyes still fixed on Oikawa. “Stop biting into it! Ugh! Stop!”

As the air grows warmer, the crowds began to thicken. Iwaizumi notices the hanami picnickers seem to concentrate on one certain tree. Sure, it’s pinker than any other tree in the wide area, but it doesn’t appear to be anything special.

Oikawa notices where Iwaizumi is staring.

“That’s a plum tree Date Masamune brought from Korea,” he says, licking the flavor left on his popsicle stick. “It’s four-hundred years old.” Iwaizumi listens attentively. “They say it brings good luck and a long life.”

Just as Iwaizumi had observed earlier, Oikawa has been updating his social media on a regular basis, posting consistently and on time – the bike ride, the flat lays of food, generic photos of the cherry blossom park. Iwaizumi lies down cozily on the grass, arms behind his head. It might be the delicate air or the soothing pink and white trees that makes flower viewing so comforting, but whatever the case Iwaizumi can see why people like it.

However, Oikawa isn’t looking at the view, mulling thoughtfully, his head dipped down towards his phone.

“Hey, you drag me out here to watch the cherry blossoms and you keep looking at your phone,” Iwaizumi snaps, his mouth curved down into a pout. “Stop texting.”

“I’m not texti—hey! Give that back!” Iwaizumi snatches his phone away. He hides it behind his back, lying on it. Oikawa attempts to roll him to the side. “Iwa-chan! You’ll crack the screen with your gorilla muscles at this point! It’s fragile! Move!”

With that, Oikawa kneels up with grumpy puffed cheeks. He grabs Iwaizumi’s hands, trying to haul him up – and failing. The man on the grass makes himself heavier, mimicking Oikawa whenever he tries to lift him from the ground.

He mutters in a monotonous tone, “I can’t stand up. Gravity’s becoming stronger.”

“Earth’s gravity is only equivalent to 9.798 meters per second squared, so don’t—”

Warm hands grasp both Oikawa’s wrists, tugging him down next to him. Oikawa’s chest collides lightly against his, and in a matter of seconds, Iwaizumi settles a hand behind Oikawa’s head, tangling his fingers with his hair.

“What’s with you?” Iwaizumi asks. It’s demanding, the way he said it, but there’s a hint of softness underneath his words. “I can literally hear your heart beating.”

The young omega on top of him sighs shakily with the gentle touch, burying his face deeper into his neck, inhaling his scent. “I need you and I hate it,” Oikawa tells him with a sigh, voice tentative and shy. He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t move an inch, the silence that came after thoughtful and relaxing. He then shifts a bit and snuggles closer.

They stay like that for a while, and Iwaizumi thinks Oikawa might’ve fallen asleep. He did wake up pretty early for a jog, and even played volleyball by himself. He must be tired. Curious, Iwaizumi snags Oikawa’s phone under his weight, asking for a passcode.

 _He changed it?_ Iwaizumi tries again, thinking there must be a small mistake. Zero. One. Zero. Four. _Wrong Passcode. Try again._ His brow creases in confusion. He purses his lips and tries again. Zero. Seven. Two. Zero. _Wrong Passcode. Try again._ Iwaizumi tries with different birthdays, even his own, but to no avail. He thinks of more important dates and numbers. It’s a long shot, but he tries anyway.

“Huh,” Iwaizumi huffs when his phone unlocks after punching in the numbers. Twelve-Twenty-Five. That was the day Iwaizumi first kissed him. He bites his lip to fight off a smile, absently combing on the other’s brown hair. “What a sap.”

He doesn’t get the chance to act surprised, the screen instantly redirecting to Oikawa’s Instagram app. His eyes widen. Oikawa wasn’t texting at all.

Iwaizumi scrolls through his feed. _Back home in Sendai! #Hanami_ is captioned under a square photo of Nishi Park’s thicket of baby pink cherry blossom trees. He slides his finger up a bit more. It’s a picture of Iwaizumi. A side view. He’s laughing while biting onto a watermelon-shaped popsicle.

There’s a short caption below it – and Iwaizumi just wants to fucking _die,_ his cheeks and ears growing as pink as the petals blooming around them.

_But for me, home is wherever this guy is._

Iwaizumi isn’t sure if he’s melting into an embarrassed puddle of feelings or exploding into tiny pieces of flesh, covering his eyes with his free arm to hide his flustered face. His lips purse tightly. He’s about to scroll through more photos when Oikawa stirs from his nap, waking up to the smell of blossoming flowers and Iwaizumi Hajime.

“Mm, sorry, I fell asleep,” Oikawa murmurs, rubbing his eyes before propping himself up with his elbows. He blinks his eyes open, resting his chin on Hajime’s chest. “Your face is really red. Are you catching a cold too, Iwa-chan?”

“I-I’m fine,” he says. Thankfully, he had returned the phone under his back before Oikawa could sit up.

“Can I get my phone back now?”

“Right.” Iwaizumi hands it over. “H-Here.”

Oikawa snuggles back down.

“I want to watch a movie after,” Oikawa suggests, eyes back on the screen as he coincidentally scrolls through a film recommendation on Twitter. “There’s a theater right across Kua-Aina. Remember that place? It’s a bike ride away.”

“There aren’t any good movies right now,” he says, but Oikawa begs to differ, shoving his phone right in front of Iwaizumi’s face. There’s a trailer playing. “World War Z 2?” Iwaizumi asks, face scrunched in doubt. “You know sequels always suck.”

“Well, there _are_ some good sequels out there,” Oikawa retorts, pouting. “Take The Godfather for example. You liked the _second_ Lethal Weapon, right? There's The Empire Strikes Back, Aliens, The Wraith of Kha—!”

“I get it, I get it,” Iwaizumi cuts off, covering Oikawa’s mouth with an entire palm. But Oikawa darts out to lick his hand, and Iwaizumi immediately takes his hand away, face hilariously twisted into disgust. “Fine. We’ll watch your shitty CGI zombie movie.”

Oikawa lets out a sound excitement, then huddles closer. “Hey, what would you do if a zombie apocalypse started?”

Iwaizumi stops to think. And he thinks _hard_. He might've taken this shit too seriously. “First, I’ll barricade the windows, then start hoarding water immediately by filling the tub before they cut off the water supply. Lights off. Gather all possible weapons in the house. If the time comes when I have no choice but to leave, I’ll head to a home center and lock myself there.” He stops to take a breath. “What about you?”

“Oh. I’ll probably just kill myself.”

“Good. I can stuff your body in the freezer and cook you if I run out of food.”

Oikawa stares him down, mouth pouting in offense. “I knew you had creepy cannibalistic tendencies, Iwa-chan. You should see your face whenever the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park eat people.”

Iwaizumi throws his head back, huffing a laugh because Oikawa is not entirely wrong. “But seriously, you’re just gonna kill yourself right off the bat? That’s unlike you.”

“What? Are you gonna say something like ‘I won’t let you die easily’ because—ow, ow, sorry—!” Iwaizumi grabs Oikawa’s face with one hand, smooshing his cheeks together. He moves his hand away, letting Oikawa continue. “Now that I think about it, maybe I’ll just wear a full body armor _then_ get myself infected.

“Okay?” Iwaizumi lifts a brow, pouting his bottom lip slightly. “What’s the point of the armor?”

“So I can be the boss fight of course!” He declares proudly. “Everyone’s going to fucking hate me when I go after them!”

“You’re such a piece of shit.”

Oikawa responds by rolling off of Hajime, using his bruised elbows to sit up.

“Hey, let’s go and buy something to eat.”

“How are you still hungry after devouring two plates of okonomiyaki?” Iwaizumi asks, staring at Oikawa in disbelief.

“Then let’s find something to drink. They’re selling sake!”

Iwaizumi is brought back to the night when Oikawa had too much to drink and ended up needlessly horny. That’s not going to happen again.

“Absolutely no sake.”

This time, the stalls are packed with the late morning tourists, and all of the shops are open. Oikawa’s bottomless pit of a stomach grumbles in excitement. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, glares at his slowly dying wallet.

“Bring your own cash next time, dumbass,” Iwaizumi grumbles, fishing out bills for Oikawa’s takoyaki. The shopkeeper says a small thanks, handing over two paper boats of octopus balls. But that’s just for Oikawa. He hands over another tray for Iwaizumi. “What’s with the appetite? Are you in heat or something?”

“That’s rude, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa replies, although he doesn’t sound very offended. “I skipped breakfast and my stomach is _furious_.”

The crowd’s noise and festival drums monopolizes the atmosphere for a minute. As expected, there aren’t any seats available anymore so they’re stuck standing by the stall. Oikawa takes on an entire octopus ball in his mouth, fanning his mouth because it’s too hot for his tongue. The burn slowly fades, and that’s when the flavor just _explodes_. It’s grilled to perfection, the syrupy brown sauce and mayonnaise dripping freely when Oikawa bites into it.

Iwaizumi smiles at the other’s enthusiasm, his gaze skirting over his airy countenance, looking even more charming while he shoves takoyaki into his mouth. He laughs at this, laughs at his messy face, smeared with all sorts of sauces.

“I have something on my face, don’t I?” he asks with a childish scowl, cheeks half-full. Iwaizumi only nods, stifling another chuckle. Oikawa dubiously squints his eyes at him. Since his hands are full, Oikawa runs his tongue on the corners of his mouth, and asks if it’s gone.

Iwaizumi sighs. “You’re hopeless.”

Oikawa expected a thumb to swipe it off, but he forgets for a second that this is Iwaizumi Hajime in front of him. He leans in without hesitation, without thinking about anything else, and slides his tongue along the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. Oikawa squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his lips together, thinking maybe the crowd around them would magically disappear because this is just too much. Iwaizumi sucks on the same spot, the sweet taste coating his tongue, then he makes his way to his lips, nipping at his bottom lip.

Their lips part with a wet sound.

Oikawa blinks, face flushed, eyes comically wide. And Hajime is the complete opposite.

“Stop doing that—!” he whines, hiding his face and dropping his forehead on Iwaizumi’s shoulder. But he snaps his head right back up, his skin redder than a second before if that’s even possible. Living up to his name and being as dense as a rock, Iwaizumi doesn’t get why Oikawa’s fuming red in anger, and smudges an apologetic kiss to his pursed lips.

 

**Hajime-kun is a Killjoy and Won’t Join our Group chat (3)**

**Oikawa Tooru**  
[guys!! iwa-chan is so weird!]  
_Oikawa Tooru sent a sticker._  
10:25 AM

 **Matsukawa Issei**  
[whats new]  
10:25 AM

 **Oikawa Tooru**  
[he keeps kissing me]  
[and we’re in public!!]  
10:26 AM

 **Hanamaki Takahiro** _  
_ [well isnt that normal?]

[he’s an alpha]

[it’s normal to be a lil possessive]  
_Hanamaki Takahiro sent a sticker._  
_10:27 AM_

 **Matsukawa Issei**  
[he’s just staking his claim u know?]  
[did anything happen?]  
10:27 AM

 **Oikawa Tooru**  
[we’re just eating takoyaki right now!!!]  
_Oikawa Tooru sent a sticker._  
_10:28 AM_

 

Oikawa glances back at his companion - sporting an innocent face as he bites into an octopus ball. He doesn’t get it. Did he develop a post-traumatic stress disorder or something? Are his alpha instincts slipping out of nowhere to scan the environment for potential threats? Scouring his surroundings and scaring off predators by claiming him?

“You know I’ll never ever love anyone else but you, right?”

Iwaizumi blinks at him, cheeks full and puffy like a hamster. He swallows hard before his brows twist in confusion.

“Hah? What are you talking about?”

Oikawa averts his gaze, eyes dipping down to his hands. “I’m just saying.” His attempt to sound intimidating ends up sounding nervous instead. “That’s why you shouldn’t worry too much, Iwa-chan! No need to stake your claim in public spaces!”

“I’m not worried.”

Oikawa squishes down his eyebrows in utter confusion. “Then tell me why you keep kissing me in public! It’s embarrassing!”

His green eyes flutters, like he’s just as confused as Oikawa.

“Do I need a reason? I do it because I want to.”

Oikawa feels his heart rate jump again, bouncing against his chest faster when Iwaizumi doesn’t tear his eyes away. Hajime can probably hear it. He can also probably smell his frivolous emotions wafting in the air. His flustered thoughts are broken by Hajime when he takes him by the wrist.

“W-Wait, where are we going?” he asks, glancing back on the food stands that’s gradually getting further and further away.

“Somewhere no one can see us,” he says simply, his grip tightening. “I can’t fucking kiss you right here, can I?”

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

“I honestly thought you’re taking me to a love hotel when you said we’re going somewhere no one can see us – but this is better, I guess.”

Oikawa scampers ahead of him, taking of his sneakers before running down the cemented steps to get to the shore like it’s the first time he had seen the ocean. The sun is high up now, the noontide reflecting off the rippling water in bright gold currents. It kind of looks like glass from his view. Iwaizumi follows the omega, always one step behind. He takes off his shoes too.

In Tokyo, they’re far from the sea, the unboasting bay being the nearest body of water. It’s tiny when compared to their hometown’s cruel seas, reigning over the horizon like a tyrant. It’s scary, to an extent. Its waves are large and strident, crashing against the seawalls that were built to stop them.

The fear he has for the ocean is strangely familiar. It sort of felt like that – the exact minute Iwaizumi realized he wanted to be more than just Oikawa’s anchor. It invaded his thoughts at night, intruded his innocent daydreams. But he didn’t let the hopes fester, building a concrete seawall to keep the waves small, giving up the potential of what they could've been long ago. But there’s just this feeling of perfection, an undeniable magnetism. Their relationship always had this natural progression, and it’s not biological, logical, or any kind of scientific bullshit. It’s just _natural_.

Fate seems to be on their side in this lifetime.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa calls him, bending down to take a peek at his face from beneath. “Are you even listening to me?”

Iwaizumi snaps and opens his eyes mentally, surprised to see Oikawa so close all of a sudden.

“Ah, I get it. Did my alpha get turned on when I lowered my head?”

Oikawa’s question was by no means accusing, the way his voice sings implying it’s merely a joke.

“I told you not to say things like that,” he answers coldly, kicking water to Oikawa’s direction, who had stepped back, complaining that the water is too cold. Oikawa snorts a charming laugh, splashing back at Iwaizumi.

Oikawa mixes in well with the salty sea breeze, smiling when the wind catches his hair, and honestly Iwaizumi could just watch him all day in this endless daydream.

“I never thought this town was special,” Oikawa says suddenly. He twirls his body around, eyes straight towards the horizon. Then he bends his knees, picking up a broken sea shell. It’s so small and delicate against his palm, he’s not surprised it’s chipped in half. “I only liked it because Iwa-chan was here. I only liked going to the Hirose River because Iwa-chan took me there to play. I only like the sea because you’re here with me.”

Iwaizumi lets his shoulders relax.

It doesn't matter where they are. It doesn't matter which city they're in, which town. Whether Oikawa gets drafted to Osaka after graduation or travel millions and millions of miles away, Iwaizumi is determined to catch up to him.

Because he didn’t think his world could be this bright.

“I’ll go to you,” Iwaizumi says.

Oikawa spins slowly, to stare back at his earnest green eyes.

“I’ll always go to you.”

Oikawa’s eyes shine wet with impending tears, blinking furiously at the sudden sting. “I know you will,” he says with a trembling smile. His words are small and quiet, and Iwaizumi recognizes the honesty and relief in his tone. He sighs out a happy sound.

They’re caught between a dream and a movie scene - complete with people casted as extras in the far background. The script tells them to not look, and the ocean waves shout at them to act more discreet and indifferent. But time speeds up and the scene is almost at its end.

“Spring break’s almost over,” Oikawa muses. The cold water reaches his feet, drenching the edges of his pants. Just as the wave recedes, he sees another shell. It’s cracked in half, too. He smiles up at Hajime. “I’m glad I get to spend it with you. Just like always.”

Iwaizumi squats down next to him, placing a blank mask over his face just as Oikawa turns to him. It feels nice when Oikawa drags a hand through his spikes, pushing his damp hair up. And it stays like that, the seawater between his fingers keeping it slicked back.

“You can kiss me now if you want.”

Oikawa’s eyes flutter close when Hajime leans in to do what he had offered. It feels like he’s drowning. Whenever they’d touch he feels his entire body being willed into this comfortable stillness. His anxiety disappears, his worries gone in a second. Science tells him it’s because of their bond, their biochemistry, their scent, their pheromones, and many other methodical things – as if they’re each other’s drug. Oikawa’s fine with that, but he thinks it’s simply because he loves Hajime so much that even the slightest brush of his hand can calm him.

 

☆ ☆ ☆

 

Tokyo gets real depressing real fast.

The first typhoon of the year taps against the windows, the rain constantly begging for attention. It’s drowned by the news showing on the television, a man eager to speak about the rain as if people haven’t noticed already. They flash a live footage of a random train station. There are hordes of people scurrying to get out of the heavy rain, blocking the entrance, and he wonders if Hajime is among them. The loud thunder that rolls above causes Oikawa to jump on his feet, provoking him to grab his phone and call.

“Where are you now?” Oikawa asks in an instant.

There’s a slight pause, and a sound implying that Hajime’s looking out of a window. He doesn’t hear a pitter-patter of rain. Hajime must be inside somewhere.

 _“I’m on the train. Just passed Asakusa._ ”

“Eh—” Oikawa replies, dragging the word into a whine. He places his phone between his ear and shoulder and reaches behind him to untie his apron. “You’re still so far.”

 _“It’s a bit crowded because of the typhoon,”_ Hajime says on the other line, adding something about his workplace letting him leave early since he’s just a part-timer. Oikawa forgets to speak for a moment. He sits on a stool by the kitchen counter. His laptop is precariously close to a steaming rice cooker when he types something on it. Hajime notices the silence. _“Hm? What are you doing? Still there?”_

“I’m checking how far Konica Minolta is from our apartment.” His gaze focuses on the screen that shows where the planetarium is located, fingers under his chin in thought. Hajime asks why he needs this information. “It’s eight kilometers away.”

_“Okay?”_

“Didn’t we agree that we’re not supposed to be apart for more than four kilometers?”

_“Hah? I don’t remember that.”_

“Of course you don’t. I made the rule just now.”

Hajime chuffs into a short chuckle. _“You’re ridiculous. I’ll be home soon, just wait a little longer.”_

Less than forty minutes have passed, and Oikawa already hears someone outside shuffling for keys. The draft that sneaks in is wet and cold when Hajime opens the door. He’s damp from the rain, his jacket soaked, hair losing its volume uncannily. Oikawa runs as soon as he hears him.

“Welcome h—!”

Thunder roars, a crack of lightning flashing too close to their home. The room dives quickly into complete darkness, and Oikawa grows still in absolute horror, the heavy silence sounding more like a hoax because of the noisy rain outside.

“A power outage?” Hajime says so casually it’s almost annoying. The shifting of the fabric when Hajime takes his jacket off is almost deafening now that there’s nothing but black silence. The alpha releases a loud sigh. “Wait, I’ll check downstairs and ask Murakami-san. Stay here and get the flashlight. Unplug all the sockets, too.”

Oikawa hears the door close again, heart skipping in disbelief.

“Just my luck,” Okawa breathes out in disappointment, but still does what Hajime had told him to do. He flicks the flashlight on, lighting up the apartment with a circular glow, making it look like it’s straight out of a horror video game. The light flashes on the kotatsu in the middle of the room and the setup on top.

“There’s a problem with the building’s circuit breaker,” Hajime bellows when he comes in for the second time, hearing the howling of the wind for a short moment before Hajime closes the door. “She’s calling an electrician now.”

Oikawa doesn’t reply. He must’ve noticed his silence. “Hey, Oikawa, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just…” Oikawa nods his head, handing him another flashlight. His voice is quiet and low compared to his previous greeting.

Hajime turns his torch on. His eyes widen as soon as his surroundings is illuminated.

Oikawa rubs the back of his neck, eyes upset and downcast. “I cooked dinner for you,” he says dejectedly, dropping down on the floor, tucking his legs underneath his thighs. “I made all of this and Iwa-chan can’t even see it! I’m gonna cry!”

Iwaizumi stares down on the prepared dishes over the kotatsu that they don’t plan on disassembling until summer. It’s arranged like a traditional multi-course meal, and for once, it doesn’t smell like burnt charcoal. With the temporary vision loss, his sense of smell heightens even more.

It smells absolutely delicious.

But even with his keener sense of smell, it’s hard to tell if the salt in the air is from the food or from Oikawa. Iwaizumi kneels in front of him. He reaches out, his touch skimming over Oikawa’s cheek. “Come on, you idiot. You’re not really crying over this are you?”

“I’m not crying!” Oikawa retorts back, smacking his hand away. “I worked hard on this and Iwa-chan can’t see it!”

Iwaizumi sighs, knowing very well Oikawa hates whenever hard work goes to waste. He settles down more comfortably, copying how Oikawa is sitting in seiza. “It doesn’t matter as long as it tastes good, right?” he tries to comfort him, but Oikawa continues to sulk. “Look at oysters for example. They’re ugly as shit but we still eat it.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows pulls down even more miserably. “You think my cooking is ugly?”

“No! I mean—” Iwaizumi replies quickly and stops to mentally punch himself. “That’s not the point. I’ll eat it, okay? I’m sure it’s delicious. Stop whining already.” He glances back at Oikawa, lips pouted in a petulant sulk, before blurting out. “Wait there.”

Iwaizumi crawls a bit towards their television set, opening the drawers beneath it. He grabs an unopened box of candles.

“Wait, don’t use those,” Oikawa says, voice still small. “My sister bought those from Hawaii.”

“You should stop saving things for special occasions.” His voice is low and gentle, greatly contrasting the storm outside. Despite Oikawa’s prior protest, Iwaizumi opens the box. “If you’re not going to use it now, when will you?” Oikawa’s eyes widen in realization. “Isn’t everyday special? Isn’t _today_ special enough?”

Oikawa parts his lips, speechless as his eyes gloss over to Hajime’s green ones, his own big browns switching from disquiet to genuine and kind.

“Everyday with you is special.”

Iwaizumi huffs into grin. “Good,” he says. “Now get some matches so we can light these up.”

The candles all look different – some of them shaped like ilima flowers, the others an odd hibiscus shape. They're small and fragile-looking, and Iwaizumi knows for sure the burn time won't be too long. Oikawa insists on lighting them up himself. The melting wax immediately sends out a warm and spicy fragrance, and Iwaizumi hopes it does what it says on the box and helps calm people down, because he can still sense the agitation in Oikawa's scent.

Now, Iwaizumi can see all of Oikawa’s hard work much more clearly.

Beneath a black woven placemat are bowls and plate, arranged like a multi-course meal. There’s a boat of shiitake mushrooms, braised in what seems like oyster sauce, Iwaizumi can’t tell with the lighting. The bowl of udon noodles seems to be made with a miso-based soup, cooked with taro, mushrooms, and cabbage. Slices of pumpkin simmered in mirin brings a splash of color to the table, and Iwaizumi bites into that first. The texture is perfectly thick, melting easily into his tongue. He takes some ginkgo nuts from a small dish to contrast the softness in his mouth.

In the middle of the table, there's a large plate of tofu swimming in crab sauce. Hajime takes a bite of that next, and is surprised by the tofu's custard-like texture. It’s the same way his mother cooks it. The thick peachy crab sauce mixes in wonderfully too, adding in sea salt flavor to it. He had never tried this kind of tofu before, so the experience is exquisitely brand new.

“Sorry, it probably sucks.”

Iwaizumi snaps his head up in disbelief. Can’t Oikawa see he loves everything? But the he figures the candles and torches aren’t enough to show the utter delight in his face.

“It’s good.” Iwaizumi then shakes his head to correct himself. “It’s _really_ good.”

A smile finally blooms across Oikawa’s face, letting out a breath of relief, his shoulders sagging when his nervousness is dispelled. “Oh, thank god.” Oikawa stares at Hajime, offering a sad smile. “But still, after all the effort to make a decent meal for Iwa-chan, this happens.”

“It’s not so bad, is it?” Iwaizumi tells him, referring to the fortuitous power outage. “We ended up eating dinner in candlelight.” His chopsticks reach for another dish on the other end of the table. “Besides, I think there’s gonna be several more opportunities for you to cook for me.” He stops and smiles back. “And I mean a _lot_.”

Oikawa chuckles, a lovely sound that Iwaizumi needed to hear after his abundance of frowns since he came home. “Fine, I’ll let tonight pass,” Oikawa says, putting his elbows on the table and cupping his chin with both hands. “But promise me you’ll cook miso soup for me every morning for the rest of my life.”

He snorts out a laugh. “Is that a proposal?”

“Hm. Maybe.”

Iwaizumi had consumed all the tofu when he notices Oikawa only watching him. He raises his chopsticks between them, udon noodles dangling from it. Oikawa blinks twice before realizing Iwaizumi had meant to feed him. He takes it in his mouth, humming in utter surprise.

“This actually tastes good!”

“Wait, you mean you haven’t tasted your own cooking?” Iwaizumi asks in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at Oikawa. “How did you manage to make these then?”

“I don’t necessarily trust my tastebuds when it comes to my own cooking.”

The alpha only shrugs. “Fair enough.”

“You’re supposed to disagree, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi stares at his pouting face, then stares at the steady flame of the candles. There’s a mild wooden thud when Oikawa stands up to get drinks from the kitchen. He comes back with a cold bottle of barley tea, sitting in the same place across Iwaizumi. He watches him pour the iced tea into their favorite mugs.

“Can’t you fix the breaker?” Oikawa asks suddenly.

“I’m not an electrical engineer.”

“How do you expect to build a spaceship for us when you can’t even fix our circuit breaker?”

Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at the question and ignores it, savoring the last drops of the soup udon miso soup. Oikawa can be hell on most days, but thankfully enough, he’s an absolute heaven on some.

With a full stomach and a satisfied groan, Iwaizumi throws himself back and stretches his arms. Oikawa shuffles in next to him, wriggling on the floor until he has his head on his Iwaizumi’s lap. The incandescent light waxes Oikawa’s features beautifully, his hand absently reaching down to brush his fringes away so he has a clear view of his face.

“We should go see the cherry blossoms before classes start.”

Their first semester of their third year will start in a week, reminding Iwaizumi they’ll have less nights like this. “Haven’t had enough in Miyagi?”

“I hear everyone talking about the cherry blossoms along Meguro River,” Oikawa replies, eyes closing dreamily in response to Iwaizumi’s touch. “It’s different.”

“Exactly how?” Iwaizumi frowns. “They’re the same flower.”

Oikawa huffs in distaste. “You’re so unromantic.” He licks his lips before sighing, his entire body wilting against the other. “I could use a beer right now! Being with a dense guy like you is so exhausting.” Iwaizumi lightly flicks his forehead, and Oikawa locks both his wrists so he can’t do ir again. “The only thing we have in the fridge is barley tea and Tanqueray. Why do you keep buying that old man booze anyway?”

Iwaizumi casts down an offended pout. “Because I like gin. Don’t drink it you don’t want it. No one’s forcing you.”

“As expected, a ‘manly drink for a manly man like Iwaizumi-san’.” Oikawa giggles gently at the memory. “That’s what Kindaichi said before, when he saw you chugging down three bottles of Lipovitan before a match.”

“You still remember that?” Iwaizumi asks. “Well, you do have a pretty good memory,” he adds, sounding more like an afterthought.

Oikawa grabs his alpha’s hand, the one Iwaizumi’s been using to comb through his hair. “I remember a lot of things.” He kneads his palm like clay, as if it’s going to mold into another shape. “I should get the Tanqueray. Maybe your alphaness would rub off on me.”

He breathes out an exasperated sigh. "Just go out and buy some beer."

"I think you're forgetting the typhoon literally destroying the streets outside." Oikawa lifts his chin so he can stare back at Hajime’s narrowed eyes. “And I don’t feel like going out anyway. I already prepared my nest.”

Iwaizumi tilts his head, wondering about the supposed nest. He’s worried, sort of. As far as he knows, his clothes are still in the dressers, and their living room is clean and spotless except for the remnants of their dinner on the kotatsu. It takes him a solid minute to realize _he’s_ the nest. Oikawa shuffles closer and rolls to the other side, wrapping his arms around Iwaizumi’s waist.

Nights like this are Iwaizumi’s favorites. It’s rare for Oikawa to be relaxed like this, and there are only a few instances which he is. He’s calm and quiet whenever he’s engrossed with a book, or when he’s watching a serious movie, and sometimes he never speaks a word whenever he organizes his Instagram feed, or when he’s trying to figure out which selfie is the best one to post on Twitter – even though Iwaizumi thinks they are all perfect.

Another minute trickles by, washed by the rain and the occasional thunder. It emulsifies nicely with the silence. Oikawa peers up at him with a different glint in his eyes.

“You liked my cooking, right?” he asks with bright eyes. “I called your mom for help, read recipes in the internet all day, and I even watched YouTube videos on how to cook those goddamn pumpkins! I burned them on my first try.” Oikawa pauses, his face twisting in anticipation. “Don’t I get a kiss as a reward?”

Iwaizumi only blinks back. “I didn’t ask you to do all of that.”

Oikawa scoffs dramatically. “That’s how surprises work! You of all people should know! Besides, Iwa-chan used to kiss me all the time! Oh, has the fire already gone out in this relationship?”

“Didn’t we fuck this morning?”

“You’re so vulgar.”

“What do you want me to say? Intense love-making?” He evades just in time as Oikawa tries to cover his mouth. Iwaizumi’s lips curve into a frown. “And you’re one to talk. I’m not the one screaming _fuck me harder_ every goddamn seco—”

“Ah—Stop! Oh my god, shut up!” Oikawa jolts up, practically smother Iwaizumi’s face with both hands, but the other doesn’t stop and keeps on babbling about Oikawa’s colorful language during sex. He stands up and covers his ears out of embarrassment and stomps towards the kitchen, hearing Iwaizumi laugh triumphantly behind him. Tanqueray sounds good right about now.

“This tastes like a lumberyard,” Oikawa says when he paces back, coughing. It leaves a strong taste in his mouth and he almost gags. He sits down next to Iwaizumi, underneath their heatless kotatsu, and shoves the glass of iced gin to his face.

Iwaizumi angrily snatches the glass away. “Then don’t drink it!”

He rests the side of his head on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, as the other sips the abhorrent drink like it’s just water. “I want to see what Iwa-chan sees in it. But then again, you’ve always had the worst tastes in pretty much everything.”

“Yeah, I do have the worst tastes. I’m in love with you after all.”

Oikawa blushes furiously, and had thought of teasing Hajime about it, until he realizes the context. He brushes his forehead against the other’s neck as some kind of protest. “Well, that’s _rude_. I’ll have you know that people find it quite easy to fall in love with me. I have so many alphas at my disposal!”

Iwaizumi turns to look at Oikawa.

“Only fools would fall in love with you.”

He’s lost in the way Oikawa’s mouth twist into a pout, the flash of his natural fragrance tickling his senses. His fingers curve across Oikawa’s jaw and so he bends down, their noses brushing before pressing his lips to the other’s adorably tentative mouth.

It tastes like a promise.

Iwaizumi pulls back, letting their breaths linger as endless as forever. He whispers into Oikawa's parted mouth, softly, lovingly.

"That's why I'm probably the biggest fool in the world."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> glad that’s fucking over! wow jfc  
> so here it is my self-indulgent epilogue filled with nothing but vanilla  
> (the real character development here is oiks finally cooking a decent meal by himself tbh)
> 
> it’d be nice to know what your favorite parts were within this monster of a fic that ended up too fucking long because I keep adding disgustingly sappy scenes!!! i love seeing what my dudes think!!
> 
> thanks so much for reading until the end!!!!!!!!!! id like to thank mah boys and the babygirls who commented here, or followed me on the tweeters, even in that hellhole tumblr. I love ya'll u guys r the best. every single message and comment helped me finished this fic so thank you!! ;;o;;
> 
> u can always holla at yo boy here: [twitter](https://twitter.com/dahliadenoire) or [tumblr](http://dahliadenoire.tumblr.com/)  
> playlists for this chap: [x](https://open.spotify.com/user/22fcvi6th7yrl2odhh6hrhcfi/playlist/2Dx2xRyVsPNUgfEaIwLwQm) [x](https://open.spotify.com/user/22fcvi6th7yrl2odhh6hrhcfi/playlist/2CQI9rGlcDV4bUqnPTxEh6) [x](https://open.spotify.com/user/22fcvi6th7yrl2odhh6hrhcfi/playlist/1Ju019iDV5ngIXG4EAZzAw)


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